


A Lantern in the Dark

by Reverie_Indigo



Series: Lantern in the Dark [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, BAMF Merlin, Banter, Breathplay, Canon Era, Community: paperlegends, D/s, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin/Arthur UST, Paperlegends 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 124,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reverie_Indigo/pseuds/Reverie_Indigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After living in Camelot for ten years, Merlin has accomplished nothing - magic is still illegal, Albion remains a mirage, and he's still 'just a servant' who is lonely and tired of his hopeless pining for Arthur.</p><p>Merlin will pay a heavy price for his lack of direction as Arthur’s walls of denial crumble and Morgana’s plans to destroy Emrys approach fruition. In his desperation to save the Golden Age of his dreams, Merlin will have to call upon his magic like never before, testing the old adage that power corrupts - and absolute power corrupts absolutely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a polished and expanded version of a PaperLegends 2013 entry, and while stand-alone, it's Part I of a larger story with an Arthur/Merlin endgame. The second part is being written for the After Camlann Big Bang.
> 
> I can't even begin to express my thanks to my evil harpy of a beta, dreams579, who took a self-indulgent mess and magically transformed it into something readable. To her I dedicate this work.
> 
> I'm also immensely grateful to ptelefolone, who has adorned this story with breathtaking art, which can be found [here](http://ptelly.tumblr.com/post/59945873600/art-for-paper-legends-2013-my-assigned-writer-was) as well as in the story (Ch. 3 & 6).
> 
> Special thanks to my insightful and eagle-eyed cheerleader, sarahmichele21, who provided a valuable third set of eyes, and of course, my thanks to themuppet for putting together and running paperlegends.

Dead branches slashed at Merlin's face as he bolted through the forest, his heart pounding in desperate counterpoint to the heavy footfalls of the tall man crashing after him - footfalls that thumped ever louder as the man's long stride ate the distance between them.

Flashes of glinting metal and golden hair raced a safe interval ahead, blinking in and out of view. Merlin snatched a glance to either side; his pursuers had fanned out so he couldn’t veer – they were corralling him. He grasped for options – he didn’t dare reveal his magic to their sorcerer, but he might get away with a gentle nudge to the weather for some cover… “ _Hréohnes cume_!”

He plunged through another spider web; the sticky threads sucked into his mouth and plastered his head and something tickled across his ear. “Blech!” He shuddered and spat and batted at his hair and face, but he had to leave it and focus on evading the gnarled roots that grabbed for his feet - if he stumbled he'd be finished.

A fallen trunk loomed across his path and with a surge of adrenaline he took a flying leap; as he cleared the obstacle with a shout of triumph that shrank to a squeak as his toe stubbed on the bark and for a horrible moment his trajectory threatened to take him face down into the mulch. He managed to recover his balance by scrabbling on all fours, grabbing for branches and bushes for several paces, but even the forest seemed to be out to get him as a wiry yew branch he swatted out of his way sprang back to thwack him in the head.

Each such misstep further shaved his lead; shouts rang out around him as his pursuers tightened their noose and now the tall man’s breath heaved mere steps behind him, and Merlin pictured his powerful muscles tensing to spring and tackle him to the ground.

A huge thorn tore his hand and the sharp pain made him hiss. He took his eyes off the path for only an instant to glare at his wound, distraction enough to cause him to shoulder a passing tree with a bruising thud and a grunt. A ragged choir of caws erupted as a cloud of spooked crows took flight from the tree and Merlin seized this lucky break. _"Fuglas forstendeaþ!"_ At his command the flock looped back and dived at the tall man’s head, whose howled curses receded as he fell behind, and Merlin huffed a pant of relief at the respite. He hoped none of the poor birds got hurt for helping him.

With burning lungs and throbbing feet ill-protected by his shabby boots, he feared his reprieve would be short-lived, although the thinning trees made for an easier stride…

He came crashing out of the forest and skidded to a halt, and huffed in exasperation at the steep embankment blocking his path. _Why do they put these everywhere?_ Impossible to climb, and even if he managed, they'd shoot him down with their crossbows.

Merlin spun at the sound of the soldiers emerging from the woods and stepped backward to keep his flank covered by the embankment as they moved to surround him in a wide semi-circle, around thirty strong, swords drawn and crossbows raised. The sorcerer burst into the clearing a few seconds after them and without pause hurled a chain at Merlin. " _Weorc untoworpenlic!"_ The glinting metal spun through the air at him and, as if alive, wound itself around him from waist to shoulders, trapping his arms at his side.

Merlin glanced down at his entangled body. "Oh."

***

Cadoc paused to catch his breath and wipe his brow, grateful for the rising breeze. Puzzled, he approached the lone captive. His men reported spotting Pendragon with one companion, and this sorry creature before him was no king by any stretch…

The captain stumbled out of the trees and jogged to Cadoc’s side, his face bleeding from numerous small wounds, his body plastered with black feathers and bird droppings. Cadoc scanned him up and down. _Odd_. “The men say there were two of them. Where’s this ‘armoured man’?”

The captain frowned and swept his gaze around the clearing. “Sometimes in the heat of things men see what they want to… but I saw him too. Not clearly, but I’m pretty sure he was blond and wearing armour.”

Cadoc rubbed his chin; why had everyone seen two men? A shadow fell over him; a chill crept through the air and the leaves rustled in the strengthening breeze. He glanced up at the sky – the dark clouds rolling in promised rain.

A jangling drew his attention back to the captive as he struggled against the chain, his efforts causing the enchanted links to tighten; he sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut, gave up and sulked in silence. Cadoc scrutinised him from head to toe – judging by his clothes, a peasant, most likely one of the king’s servants.

Cadoc stilled his tapping foot and pursed his lips. "Where is the king?" The captive remained sullen and downcast. _There’s no time for this._ He raised his arm and clenched his fist. " _Nearwe_!" The chains constricted further.

The prisoner gasped and bent forward. “Ah! I don't know!"

Cadoc narrowed his eyes. "You were just with someone. Where is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. There's nobody else!"

"You're lying." Yet no one could have slipped past them and there was nowhere to hide. Something didn’t add up. Why would several people spot the same phantom man? Why would a _servant_ throw away his life like this for his master?

The servant’s defiance melted; his stooped shoulders and hanging head betrayed his resignation. "Does it look like there's anyone else to you? I'm alone."

His patience at its end _,_ Cadoc make one last effort and tightened the chain again. The captive gasped and winced, his pale skin reddening as he struggled for breath. “Where is the king?"

The prisoner gave him a weak smirk. "If I were to guess, several miles in the opposite direction." He lowered his head, wheezing and grimacing, his body contorted in awkward angles.

This had been a waste of valuable time.They needed to move fast to have any chance of catching up with their quarry; the now vigorous wind continued to rise and the imminent storm would wash away Pendragon's trail. Cadoc frowned, angry, mostly with himself. He’d been tricked by a servant, and now the tyrant would likely escape _._ He sighed. "Kill him."

The captain pressed his lips together, gave a hesitant nod. "He may prove useful as bait."

Cadoc scoffed. "Why would Pendragon care? He's just a servant. We can’t risk leaving him and we can’t drag him with us."

The captain shrugged, drew a knife, and took a step forward.

The trembling prisoner’s eyes shot wide. "Wait…" His gaze darted between Cadoc and the captain, and when he recognised they were serious, he sighed and his hunched posture straightened like a snake uncoiling as he rose to his full height and lifted his head, his eyes flaring gold. Caught off guard, Cadoc gasped and stumbled backward, tripping and falling as the chain dissolved into individual links, spinning around the prisoner's body. The captain lunged forward.

Cadoc’s reflexes kicked in. " _Scildan!_ " He summoned the shield a fraction of a second before the links shot away in a deadly arc and scythed through the troops; they fell en masse with clipped grunts. Cadoc gaped, stunned by this sudden reversal.

The sky darkened to a deathly black as the wind rose in force to whip up clouds of debris and leave the clearing illuminated only by strikes of angry lightning. The servant approached, a grim silhouette, his golden gaze fixed on Cadoc, who scuttled away from him hyperventilating and his heartbeat thrashing in his ears. The oppressive weight of the man’s power now assailed him, and his body tingled with magical energy making his hairs stood on end. He threw out an arm. _"Hleap on bæc!"_

The servant raised a careless hand and the magic of the spell dispersed around him, and unharmed, he continued to advance. He reached Cadoc's shield, his arm extended. “ _Tófére þone scield!_ ” His shield collapsed and Cadoc rose to his feet and backed away, struggling to maintain his footing against the roaring winds.

The man held the reins of the strengthening storm in his hands, shaping the winds to his will, and sent a cyclone whirling around Cadoc with furious strength. _My God._ He had never before encountered magic like this.

 _"Hafene þone mann!"_ At the man’s command, the cyclone lifted Cadoc off the ground and forced him to keep his arms pressed to his body lest they be torn away.

The servant halted before him. "How did you find us?"

Pulse racing and fighting for air, Cadoc didn’t answer.

"How did you find us?"

Cadoc took deep calming breaths through his nose, exhaled from his mouth, and girded his will to remain silent; not even fear of death would make him betray the cause.

The man sighed. "I'm sorry, but I have to know. _Ácwiðe ángilde_ _sóþsegena!"_

Cadoc gasped as the servant's will pressed upon his with terrible force and he resisted with all his strength, throwing up every mental barrier he had.

The man's voice reverberated in his mind as well as his ears. "How did you find us?"

"I… I… d-d-d-don't…" The words dragged from him like the undertow before a crash of surf.

_"How did you find us?"_

Even Cadoc’s middling power should be enough to resist a spell like this, yet he had been overcome with frightening ease and compelled to speak the truth. "I don't know. We were told where to go."

The servant pushed through his remaining defenses as if they were paper to ransack his mind. A stream of memories flashed in his head as the intruder disturbed and discarded them, some falling back into place, others dissolving into nothingness and leaving behind a swirling emptiness.

The man spotted the raven. Cadoc resolved to keep this crucial memory out of his hands at any cost. Maybe he couldn’t hide, but he could run.

***

Exploring the sorcerer’s mind was like standing in a crowded market with a migraine – so much noise, impossible to think, the sensation of spinning around and around until Merlin became ill as each memory demanded his attention with equal yearning. A broken doll lying half under a woodpile. Swatting a broom at a bat in the house. A beautiful young woman smiling. A leaky boat, a foaling horse rancid meat bell chiming _flutter of dark wings_. There – _that_ one. Merlin focused on this memory, and everything else receded into a white blur of sensations. The raven studied him, wary, glinting black eyes never leaving him for more than an instant as its head darted about considering an escape route.

Merlin crept toward the bird, nonchalant; he spotted a small scroll affixed to its leg that it tried to conceal with a wing. The moment he got close enough to detect the intelligence and awareness in its eyes, it launched away from his grasping hand. Merlin dived after the raven into the depths of the sorcerer’s mind, heedless of the danger. He needed this – if he followed the memory to its source, he might discover how they had tracked Arthur.

As they delved deeper, the memories grew darker, formative, compelling. Merlin experienced the euphoria of his first youthful kiss; shuddered in dread and hate as his best friend burned on the pyre; choked with grief at his mother’s funeral; the overpowering thumping of a heart as he endured the agony of birth… They reached a gaping maw of blackness Merlin feared to enter, into which the vortex of memories bled, only to be returned, altered and warped in an endless cycle.

Merlin made a final effort to reach the raven before it escaped into the dark, but something reached back.

_Merlin travelled along an unswerving path through a bleak desert with a stranger at his side. The stranger asked him, “What do you want?”_

_Merlin shrugged. "I want nothing."_

_The stranger laughed. "Everyone wants something. What is it? Power? Wealth? Immortality?"_

_Merlin pondered for a moment. “To keep Arthur safe. To keep everyone safe.”_

_His companion nodded. “A worthy goal. How?”_

_Merlin stopped, frowned, but no answer would come to him. “I don’t know…” But the man had disappeared. Merlin spun to his rear to find only the path. When he faced forward again, he found himself in a circle of great standing stones, a terrible storm raging._

_The stranger stood in the middle of the circle. “There is only one way. Shall I show you?”_

_Merlin nodded. “Yes.”_

_“Then here it is.” Now the gale and thunder were the stranger’s voice, and Merlin realised the man had no face as he reached for Merlin with terrible power that dwarfed his own, tearing the threads of fate with the cold grasp of entropy._

Merlin shot back through the vortex of memory and out of the sorcerer’s mind; recoiling several steps and losing his hold on the wind, he dumped the sorcerer to the ground. Merlin’s attention scattered in the deafening chaos of dissipating images, and he cowered from the last, shaken.

A burst of magic snapped his mind free. The sorcerer had recovered first, familiar with the nightmare that haunted him and faster to shake it off. Seizing his opportunity, he gathered all his strength and hurled a crackling fireball at Merlin. “ _Forbaerne!_ "

Merlin reacted by instinct. _“Scinnfell!”_ He raised his hand and the fireball struck him and exploded with terrible force; he emerged unharmed, but only a trail of ash remained of the sorcerer.

“No!” Merlin had experienced the sorcerer’s life in his memories and the man's death wrenched him with nausea. They had such similar goals, even if their paths travelled in different directions. The sorcerer's enmity for Arthur came from tragic experience, not madness or evil – he had been a good man doing what he thought right. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. His own failures had caused this. His failure with Morgana, his failure with Arthur.

And he had failed to determine who sent the raven. Did Camelot harbour yet another traitor?

Groans from the fallen men around him pulled him back into awareness of his surroundings. Some of them might survive; he couldn’t kill them in cold blood, so he altered their memories to recall him as Dragoon.

That done, he turned around trying to get his bearings, but with no clue as to where he’d ended up, he let out a long, low sigh. He was lost.

His crow allies had followed to collect payment for their services at the grisly table Merlin had set for them; perhaps they’d help him once more. He knelt and snapped his fingers until he drew eye contact with an enterprising bird. _“Áfindaþ rídend.”_ The crow took to the sky and flew in a broad circle before landing at Merlin’s feet to point with its beak to the southwest. Merlin focused his thoughts and projected his mind through the forest in a straight line at the indicated bearing and smiled when he ran into Percival.

He thanked the crow, cast a homing spell on Percival, and trudged in his direction, but as he did, a sharp pain lanced through his side and he winced as his hand shot to his ribs. He couldn’t tell how bad his injuries were – the stupid chain had painted his entire upper body with bruises and lacerations, but he didn’t identify any breaks as he probed along his side, and he convinced himself that the pain was manageable.

And of course, the rain he’d summoned chose now to begin falling. Groaning, he slogged off, doing his best to avoid jarring his ribs.

***

Minutes into his trek the rain increased to torrents, soaking him through, covering the ground with treacherous puddles and making every step in his waterlogged boots laborious. The trees provided no shelter and the trickling streams he’d passed over before had swelled into serious water hazards. He put aside the ache in his ribs to deal with later; if he didn’t get to Arthur before his force turned for home, Merlin would be stuck making his way back to Camelot on foot.

After the clouds had emptied and as nature reasserted the balance disrupted by his magic, the rain petered away into a depressing drizzle. He continued to home in on Percival, and sensed him moving in a slow, erratic path – searching? In any case, this allowed Merlin to catch up to him despite his exhausted and injured condition, and as he came near, he made enough noise to avoid surprising Percival and getting himself decapitated.

As expected, Percival detected his approach and tensed in readiness. "Declare yourself!"

Merlin’s body slumped, tension released and a slow smile inched its way onto his face. "It's only me."

Percival straightened and beamed as Merlin approached. "Merlin!” He took a step forward… frowned in thought… His eyes widened and he raised his sword to Merlin's throat as they drew close. Merlin pursed his lips and raised his hands in surrender; Arthur had ordered them to take no chances – appearances could be deceiving. "What's the code phrase?"

Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes. "'Merlin is an idiot.'"

Percival's face lit up in a smile that eased Merlin’s glum mood; he sheathed his sword and Merlin suppressed a wince as Percival clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Thank God, Merlin, we were worried.”

Merlin shrugged. “It took me some time to circle back after I lost them. I was actually worried about all of you.”

Percival nodded. “They only left a pinning force and we drove them off easily. Strange that almost all of them went after you. That was really brave of you.” The praise gave Merlin a flush of pride, even if the ‘strange’ had been the glamour of Arthur he’d used to trick the soldiers. Percival lowered his voice, stooped his head closer to Merlin’s level. "But brave or not, Merlin, the king’s not very happy with you right now."

Merlin grimaced – this he’d expected too. "On a scale of 'late with breakfast' to 'spilling wine on the speech he spent all night writing', where would he be?"

"Setting fire to his bed while he's still in it."

"Maybe I'll just stay here."

Percival shook his head, a sympathetic grin on his face. "It’s too dangerous. We don’t know how many of the enemy are about… and I’ve been feeling like someone’s watching me.” Merlin snapped his face up, surprised Percival had sensed Merlin tracing him. “And we need to hurry back in case it starts pouring again." He glanced at the sky as he proceeded to Arthur’s location, or so Merlin assumed. "The weather really turned suddenly."

Merlin schooled his features into an innocent look.

Minutes after starting on their way, Merlin misjudged a step and slipped enough to cause a stab of pain that made him suck in his breath. Percival stopped and turned, forehead furling as he appraised Merlin’s condition. “You’re hurt.”

“My side. It’s not bad.” Percival gave him a doubtful frown. “I checked and nothing’s broken.”

“Do you want me to carry you?”

Merlin did his best not to gawk at the sheen of moisture on Percival’s bulging arms and the ample breadth of his shoulders, or think about how his chilled body could use the warmth. _Tempting_. “Thanks, Percival, but do you think my using one of his knights as a beast of burden will improve the king’s mood?”

Percival laughed. “No, probably not. We’re not far anyway.”

Meaning not long until he had to face Arthur, which made his stomach roll. Percival glanced at him in concern from time to time as they walked, but asked no questions; he seemed more worried about Merlin’s injuries than how he got them and Merlin was grateful he didn’t need to make up a story.

He tried to walk in smooth and careful strides, but every other step jarred his side. If he had foreseen how much the pain would swell after his adrenaline faded he would have healed himself, but now it was too late; if he did, he would draw suspicion.

They reached the assembly point and Percival squeezed his shoulder. "Look who’s turned up!" The men jumped up with happy shouts of “Merlin!” But before anyone had a chance to do anything else, an onrushing vortex of fury sent them scattering to safety.

 _"Merlin!"_ Arthur barrelled toward them, face red and jaw clenched. Merlin took one look at him and hid behind Percival. "Come out here right now!" Arthur tried to reach around to grab him, and they ended up circling a hapless Percival until Arthur faked Merlin out, caught him by the scarf and yanked him in, fist raised.

Merlin threw up his hands to shield his face, but Percival thrust himself between them and pushed Merlin to safety behind him. "Sire!" He gaped at Arthur, wide-eyed. Arthur struggled to lower his hand, and his behavior stunned Merlin more than an actual punch ever would.

Arthur stepped around Percival to grab Merlin; Percival tensed and readied to intervene if necessary, but Arthur merely pulled Merlin aside, throwing a glower Percival’s way.

Eyes blazing, Arthur shook Merlin to punctuate his shouting, sending stabs of pain through him. "What is wrong with you? How many times have I told you to stay out of… You've made our entire troop spend an hour searching for you with the enemy at large! You…! That’s it! I’ve had it! It's the stocks for you, Merlin!"

Merlin blinked in uncomprehending frustration and growing anger. "Wha? I led their main body away! They would have—"

Arthur pulled him so close that spittle struck Merlin's face as he shouted. Merlin couldn’t meet his furious gaze, didn’t want to behold such rage directed at him; he dropped his eyes to where Arthur’s hands gripped his scarf and followed a spider that had been hiding in its folds as it crawled onto Arthur’s sleeve. "You fucking idiotic, suicidal… They had a sorcerer, Merlin, a _sorcerer_! I could have… You could have… you could have been... tortured for information!"

"I'm fine, thanks, how are you?"

"Don't even talk to me. I don't want to hear a peep out of you. Go sit over there." Arthur pointed to a log on the edge of the clearing and without looking back, Merlin slunk over and plopped down, seething in silence as his soggy clothes squelched and the cold seeped into his bones. Arthur would have struck him, even injured him. For what? His loyalty in doing his duty to defend his king? How ironic that the enemy had never posed as much of a danger to Merlin as Arthur himself.

He glanced over at Percival, who had been prepared to defy the king to protect him. Percival gave him a sad smile and a nod; Merlin tried to thank him by returning his smile but he was afraid it came out a grimace.

Arthur kept his eyes on the ground and appeared to be taking deep breaths to calm himself, and Merlin frowned in confusion as Leon approached his furious king. “Arthur…”

Arthur lifted his head, jaw clenched, fire in his gaze; he raised a finger and opened his mouth to shout, but Leon gasped and pointed at Arthur’s shoulder. “Spider!”

“Nnnnnggggg!” Arthur swiped at himself in a frenzy.

Merlin hoped it bit him.

***

“Is it gone?” Arthur twisted desperately to check his shoulder and back.

Leon nodded. “You got it.” Arthur sighed, relieved, but scanned the ground around him to make sure the fiend wasn’t planning a counterattack.

Leon leaned in to comment in a near-whisper, "Arthur, if he hadn't done what he did we'd all have been—"

Arthur lowered his voice to a hiss. "I know, and don't let him hear you. Ever."

***

The moment they arrived back at Camelot, Arthur ordered two guards to escort Merlin to the market plaza, where they handed him over to the hooded executioner, whose towering bulk cast a long shadow in the dying light of the afternoon sun. Merlin gave him a sad smile. "Hi Carl. It’s been a while."

"Hey, Merlin. How’re things?"

Merlin shrugged and glanced at the stocks, unable to raise his characteristic grin. "They've been better."

The executioner nodded and raised the upper board. "Sorry, Merlin. Would you mind?"

Merlin sighed. "Yeah, sure." Slumped and staring at the ground, he shuffled the last few steps and placed his head and arms where they belonged, and the executioner locked him in with tender care. Merlin wondered which vegetables were in season.

From the instant the lock clicked, he could tell this would be awful; bent at an angle that put pressure on his injured ribcage, he couldn’t find a comfortable position to hold, and his wet clothing chafed and clung to his soggy, chilled body. But even worse than the pain and discomfort was his hurt that after all these years, Arthur would still humiliate him in public like this – like a petty criminal – when all he’d done was save his life, yet again.

A flash of red drew his attention. Sir Bors and Sir Lionel entered the square, set up a target board and tossed daggers at it, pausing to shoot menacing glares at anyone passing near Merlin while resting their hands on their sword hilts. Merlin’s eyes prickled. He hadn’t even thought Lionel liked him.

Minutes later, a small girl approached, shy but earnest, her blonde hair pulled into a scruffy ponytail and her clothes dusty with the odd feather stuck to her pinafore from where she’d been feeding the chickens, Merlin guessed, and she carried a basket in her arms. Despite the grim situation, Merlin found the girl adorable and beamed at her. "Well hello, sweetie! What have you got in the basket?"

The girl blushed and lowered her eyes. "Strawberries."

Merlin mock-gasped. "Strawberries! But those are too nice to throw! Wouldn't you rather eat them?"

The girl shook her head. "Mum said you looked hungry and she sent me because she says I'm too little to get in trouble."

Merlin blinked back tears, touched that someone would risk difficulty with the law to show him such kindness. He responded with a shaky voice, "Oh… I—"

The girl stuck a strawberry in his mouth.

Likely emulating tactics her parents used on her, she made a game of feeding him, one strawberry a buzzing fly taking a circuitous route to his mouth, another a horse whinnying and galloping straight in, and Merlin laughed with cheerful abandon at this bright spot in an otherwise awful, dispiriting day.

Soon, two townsmen dragged a brazier into the plaza for no apparent reason, set it near Merlin and pretended to warm their hands over the hot coals.

***

Leon climbed the stairs of the watchtower overlooking the plaza to find Arthur observing the scene below, arms crossed and his neck and shoulders rigid with tension. Without turning, Arthur muttered, "You know me too well." Leon smiled; he did indeed, enough to tread with care when the king was in an irritable mood like this.

He came to stand beside Arthur, used a calming cadence. "This won't accomplish anything.”

"I know.”

Leon took no offense at the snapped reply, certain Arthur was angry with himself, not Leon. “Permission to speak freely, sire?”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yes, Leon, you may speak freely.”

“Sire… Arthur, you must always be seen to uphold the Knight’s Code. You cannot strike an unarmed civilian in front of the troops – especially not Merlin.”

Arthur remained silent for some time, and Leon worried he’d overstepped, but the king bowed his head. “I am not proud I raised my hand. But I would not have… I could not have struck him.” Leon studied Arthur for a moment before nodding, relieved, although he found it troubling that Arthur had even needed to restrain himself. The tension had been rising between the two for months, and that never ended well.

Arthur tore his eyes from the window to face Leon, shook his head, wrung his hands behind his back. "They all love him."

Leon nodded. "The men believe he brings them luck, and they're braver when he's with them." He didn’t think Merlin recognised his influence, but Leon had seen even knights obeying the “mere” manservant’s suggestions and requests as orders. In truth, the army loved Merlin nearly as much as it did the king.

Arthur turned back to the window. "But is it luck, Merlin?"

***

Soon after dusk, Merlin entered the infirmary limping, arm holding his side and his back and neck stiff. Gaius took one look at him and rushed over to him as fast as his old bones would allow; Merlin was grateful for the support as Gaius led him to the stool and removed his tunic with care. He regarded with detachment the welts and purpling bruises streaked across his arms and torso while Gaius grimaced and tutted and probed Merlin’s side until he hissed in pain.

Gaius shook his head and sighed, though his eyes remained soft. "You have a fracture. The ride back here must have been sheer torture. You should have said something, Merlin. Arthur wouldn't have put you in the stocks if he had known."

Merlin pinched his lips together, downcast; Arthur had not spoken to or even glanced at him since the incident in the forest. "I'm not sure about that…"

Gaius brushed the hair from Merlin’s forehead. "Oh, Merlin. What happened?" He went to search through the bottles and vials on his workbench.

Merlin sighed. "A sorcerer and his men found us. I led them away. When I rejoined the others, Arthur…" He glanced up at Gaius. "He was furious, almost struck me… would have, if Percival hadn't stopped him. And then the stocks... Not since Uther…" He didn’t continue the thought.

Gaius returned and handed him a vial. “For the pain.” He took Merlin’s shoulders and gazed into his eyes with warmth. “Merlin, he shouldn't ever strike you, but he was only angry because you put yourself at risk and he's afraid to lose you."

 _Or afraid I’d give up information_. Merlin recognised that was an uncharitable thought, but Arthur had been growing harsh and distant with him for months now, and he didn’t understand why. He downed the contents of the vial, ran his hand through his hair. "I’m so tired, Gaius. I...." He shook his head.

Without words, Gaius patted the side of Merlin’s face and smiled. He helped him to his room and put him to bed.

***

Merlin woke to a knock on his door, followed by a creak as it swung open. Arthur? Wearing the sheer white tunic, that even in the weak candlelight revealed the alluring contours of his muscular body. Merlin gave a heavy sigh.

"Gaius tells me you'll need a couple of days rest," Arthur traversed the short distance between the door and Merlin’s bed, rolling his eyes as he sidestepped the myriad of clothing and books spewed across the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. "Found another way to get out of honest work, have you?" Merlin didn't respond – he lacked the spirit for banter. "What are you reading?"

Merlin had been studying when he dozed off, and the book lay open on his chest. He paused before answering, wondering what Arthur wanted; he could count on one hand the number of times Arthur had entered his room. "It's about herbs."

"Herbs? Oh, that sounds _fascinating_. Scoot over." Merlin gave him a puzzled frown, but pulled himself wincing into a sitting position against the headboard and slid to the far edge. Arthur sat, their sides pressed together, and his warmth flooded into Merlin and made his stomach churn with butterflies. Arthur picked up the book.

" _'Stinging nettle: If a man is forgetful and would be cured of it, let him crush out the juice of the stinging nettle, and add some olive oil, and when he goes to bed, let him anoint his chest and temples with it, and do this often, and his forgetfulness will be alleviated.'_ So if I anoint you every night you'll remember to get up on time to bring me breakfast?" He made a circular motion with his finger on Merlin's temple. Merlin ducked away, but he let a faint smile escape, and Arthur beamed.

"Let's see what else we've got here." He thumbed a few pages. " _'Cloves: And if anyone have a headache, and his head is buzzing as if he were deaf, let him eat often of cloves, and they will ameliorate the buzzing in his head.'_ Hmm. I'm not sure all the cloves in the world would stop whatever's buzzing around up here…" He reached to knock on Merlin's head, but Merlin grabbed his wrist and pulled it back down with a feeble pretense of irritation.

"Prat." He hated himself for his weakness, that Arthur could vanquish his resentment with such ease, by offering him a scrap of the closeness his heart ached for.

" _'Hemp: Its seed is salubrious, and diminishes bad humours, and fortifies good humours. Nevertheless, if one who is weak in the head, and has a vacant brain, eats hemp, it easily afflicts his head.’_ " Arthur glanced sidelong at Merlin.

"Don't even." Merlin wanted to glare, but his exhaustion and the effects of the drug made his eyelids heavy, and so, guard lowered, he leaned against Arthur instead and rested his head on his shoulder.

"You must admit, it would explain a lot. ‘ _Poppy: Its seeds, if they be eaten, induce sleep and decrease itching. They suppress the torments of lice and nits.'_ Well, you'll certainly find _that_ useful. _'Fennel: However fennel is eaten, it makes men merry, and gives them a pleasant warmth, and makes them sweat well, and causes good digestion.'_ You know, this is actually half interesting."

"Mmm." Merlin's eyes shut, and Arthur’s voice and warm, solid presence began to lull him to sleep.

" _'Bramble leaves: The bramble, on which blackberries grow, is warm rather than cold. If anyone suffers a disorder of the lungs, and has a cough from his chest…_ '"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text of the herbology book Arthur reads to Merlin is real, taken from an old translation of Hildegard of Bingen's work, _Physica_. Hildegard is one of the most incredible women in history, and among the greatest minds of her time - a Renaissance woman in the Middle Ages.


	2. Nightmares

Arthur stood on a ledge clinging to a mountainside. He peered over the side to find a vertical cliff face – impossible to scale. With nowhere to go but up, he climbed.

A terrible storm raged; flashes of lightning stabbed through the dark to illuminate desolate mountains and valleys far below him, and howling winds buffeted his body, forcing him to press close to the rocks or the furious gusts would carry him away. The storm spoke to him with a voice he couldn’t understand, yet which sounded familiar; its words whirled around and past him and he tried hard to follow them, but he caught only fragments of meaning. Something weighed on his hand – a ring, a simple silver band, glowing with a faint light and warm on his finger. It made him feel safe.

Arthur reached the summit and from this vantage, he beheld the surrounding landscape, blasted and alien, far into the distance. Lightning and thunder flashed and boomed, and fire fell from the sky, crashing to the ground in massive earth-shaking explosions. This wondrous and terrifying vista reduced him to insignificance – and yet all this was for him. His ring grew brighter and hot, and he had no idea what he should do, but feared the wrong choice would destroy him.

Ahead loomed a circle of great standing stones, and in the middle stood a man, his face hidden in shadow, and at the sight of him a sudden awareness struck Arthur cold to the core. The man reached toward him and Arthur wanted to scream, hide. The ring burned white hot, seared Arthur’s flesh; he tried to pull it off but the effort made him lose his balance and he fell, plummeting to the rocky ground far below.

He woke with a start.

***

Alvarr shivered and adjusted his scarf; no matter how he arranged it, the wind managed to blow snowflakes under it and into his jacket. He pressed his hands over his ears; though the flaps of his cap covered them, they ached from the cold, his toes hurt even worse despite his fur-lined boots, cursing their mission for taking them to a land that could be this cold in April.

They had fallen behind schedule, having wasted hours evading Caerleon patrols, but they couldn’t afford discovery or they’d have to abandon their equipment and flee. He peered at the horizon – the blood-red glow of the sunset clouds augured a nighttime descent.

He glanced at Vallaun; she stood impassive, little of her face visible under her hood except her red nose, faint puffs of steam filtering through her scarf. She appeared to tolerate the temperature far better than he. “Aren’t you cold?”

She shrugged. “You’ll feel it more if you keep thinking about it. Mind over matter.”

Alvarr sighed and tried thinking of a warm fire, but that only made his suffering worse.

The men had made good progress assembling the winches, though not enough – in minutes they’d run out of light. The captain turned toward Alvarr, a question on his face. They could make camp for the night, but he didn’t want to tarry and they hadn’t supplies to spare. “Bring the torches!” They’d have to take the risk; besides, the likelihood of running into a patrol this far north seemed slim.

***

Once they cleared the windy upper reaches of the chasm, the descent grew easier; the air had stilled, but the haunting whistling of the wind unsettled him. Vallaun’s ball of light floated after them as they rappelled down, casting a weak and eerie glow that heightened Alvarr’s foreboding. “Do you sense it?”

Vallaun nodded, a grim twist to her mouth.

This oppressive aura of _wrongness_ here roiled Alvarr’s stomach and made his chest tingle; whispers of warning slithered up the walls of the abyss and dark shapes flitted in his peripheral vision only to fade away under his direct gaze. His every instinct shouted at him to flee; he paused and squeezed his eyes shut to collect himself. He opened them and glanced at Vallaun, shivering and her face ashen, and in an uncharacteristic needy gesture she grabbed his arm with a shaky hand.

The dark weight upon him increased as they descended and he reminded himself to breathe. Soon he heard the pebbles and rocks dislodged by their progress hitting the ground below and minutes later he stumbled when they reached bottom; he tugged his rope twice to signal the crew to stop the winches and helped settle Vallaun on her feet.

He surveyed every step with care as he traversed the irregular floor of the chasm, treacherous in Vallaun’s pale light, but he detected the outlines of rock formations and boulders strewing the way before him. They would need far more illumination to do their work. Alvarr raised his hand. “ _Léoht!_ ” A bright light flooded the fissure. Alvarr gasped and he recoiled, shielding his face with his hands as the boulder mere feet before him transformed into the house-sized head of a massive creature, giant fangs bared; it roared in his mind and Vallaun screamed as they stumbled backward entangled.

Nothing happened. The monster remained still, long incapable of motion, perhaps for centuries, even millennia, its limbs splayed across the chasm floor the rock formations Alvarr had spotted, its eyes cavernous sockets. Here rested the object of their mission: the colossal skeletal remains of an ancient dragon.

“Are you all right?” Alvarr winced at the desperate strength of Vallaun's grip as both of them stared at the dragon wide-eyed and hyperventilating. Even long dead, the shadow of its primeval magic instilled in them an instinctive fear.

Vallaun bobbed her head, in reassurance to herself more than Alvarr. “I’m fine… I’m not fine, but I can manage.” Alvarr rose and helped her to her feet, before removing the pack from his back and handing it to her. She withdrew her tools and approached the dragon’s head with slow, tiny steps.

Alvarr caught the shaking of her hands. “Are you able to do this? We can’t damage them or they’re useless.” Vallaun nodded, took a long breath, and turned to begin her work.

***

Deep in his cavern, Kilgharrah awoke and raised his ponderous head to stare off into space, sure he had sensed a disturbance. He squinted, uneasy, before settling down to return to his slumber.

***

"Is the water ready?"

Merlin glanced at the tub, misting with steam, brought to the precise temperature Arthur preferred. "Yes, sire."

Arthur stepped from behind the screen, undressed, and the grace and confidence with which he moved made Merlin feel awkward and embarrassed as if _he_ were the one naked here. Enthralled, he couldn't help drawing his eyes down Arthur's tanned and muscular body and straying to where they shouldn’t. Catching himself, he jerked his gaze up and met Arthur’s cold, flinty glare.

"What are you looking at?"

Merlin blushed and lowered his face, mortified. "Uh… nothing, sire."

Arthur approached him with slow, deliberate steps, his fists clenching and unclenching, until he’d backed Merlin against the tub, mere inches between them. "Are you staring at my body?"

Merlin shook his head, eyes wide, legs shaky. "No! I was just—"

Arthur clenched his teeth. "How dare you leer at me!"

"Arthur, I…" Merlin flinched as Arthur swung up his arm and grabbed him by the hair. "Arthur, what…?"

Arthur spun him around to face the bath. "This is the way we dispose of insolent servants."

"No, please, sire! I promise I'll do better… please—" Arthur cut off his plea by plunging his head underwater. Merlin grabbed the rim and tried to pull himself up, but Arthur was too strong; he tried to kick backward, but Arthur had him pinned to the side of the tub with his powerful body; he clawed at Arthur's fingers to pry them loose, but he had no chance against his lord's iron grip. With his lungs burning, in a last manic burst he scratched at Arthur's wrist and pushed at his waist and legs, but his efforts went barely noticed.

Merlin's struggling waned as he succumbed to his execution at his master’s hand, his vision darkening, his last breath bubbling up from his burning lungs. With half-lidded eyes, Arthur reached for his wine goblet with his free hand and took a sip. Merlin's hands gripped Arthur's corded forearm; his toes curled, his body spasmed and he surrendered to oblivion as the last of his life slipped away.

He woke with a gasp, sucking in large breaths until he realised he’d been dreaming. Staring at the ceiling panting, he clutched his hand to the tightening in his chest as he struggled to shake off the vivid images of his dream, and his cheeks burned at his body’s excited reaction to it. With a helpless sigh, he reached into his trousers and brought himself to completion thinking of the heat of Arthur’s body pressed against his and the tug of that unrelenting hand fisted in his hair.


	3. Lancelot

Merlin trudged back to Gaius’ chambers after serving Arthur breakfast and dragged himself up the stairs to his room to retrieve the great prat’s armour, which he’d spent all night mending and polishing. He eyed his bed with longing, tempted to take a break from his ever-increasing catalogue of duties… He gave in and lay down… Maybe if he rested his eyes for just a couple of minutes…

“Merlin! What on earth are you doing here?” Merlin startled awake to find Gaius looming over him, his arms akimbo. “It’s past noon! You should have brought the king his lunch by now. Surely you haven’t been in here all morning!”

Surely he _had._ “Oh God.” Now not only was he late, he was so far behind in his duties he’d be lucky to get any sleep tonight. _Fuck…_

“Merlin…”

He leapt out of bed. “Can’t talk now, Gaius, need to get to the kitchens!” He darted past the poor old man, ignoring the sputtered admonition concerning the maintenance of leech tanks that followed him out the door.

Merlin retrieved Arthur’s lunch from the kitchen in a mad rush, and as he burst into the king’s chambers the door slammed against the wall. Arthur started and bumped his knee on his desk as his combat reflexes sent him leaping to action at the loud crash, before he realised the intruder was only his manservant. "Ow, fuck! Merlin, you…!”

"Sorry, sorry!" Merlin lowered his head and set the tray down on the table, grateful he managed to do so without causing any further damage.

Arthur glared, but accustomed to Merlin's clumsiness, he rubbed his knee and returned to his work. "So was Lord Aron satisfied with the armourer's invoice?"

 _Oh no._ Merlin grimaced, his hand straying to the pocket into which he’d stuffed the parchment. A quick check of Arthur’s vicinity revealed the king didn’t appear to have anything in reach more lethal than a quill pen. _Though no doubt he’d trained from birth to kill with it_. "Er… I might have forgotten to give it to him."

Merlin flinched as Arthur jumped up, flushed with teeth bared. "Merlin! He's been asking for it for days! I told you it was vital he get it first thing this morning. How can I ever trust you with anything important if you can't even remember one simple task? He's going to think I'm deliberately snubbing him!"

It would be a blessing if for once – just once – Arthur would focus on the million and one tasks he _did_ perform instead of the one he forgot because he had no time to sleep _because he_ _was performing a million and one other tasks_. "I'm _so_ sorry – I was up late doing—"

Arthur made a cutting motion with his hand. "I don't want to hear it. You can think about the proper setting of priorities while you're mucking out the stables – _after_ you’ve given Lord Aron the invoice."

Merlin’s shoulders slumped. "Arthur, I don't have the time, I need to—"

Arthur gave him a flinty glare. "Do you want latrine duty as well?"

Merlin slumped, sighed and shut his eyes. "No, sire."

***

Wrinkling his nose at the stench of horse radiating off him, Merlin trudged to the servants' commons to wash off the grime of the stables and to avoid returning to Gaius’ chambers; he wasn’t up to arguing about the leech tank right now or anytime soon. Once he felt somewhat presentable again, he ran through his mental checklist of chores and ran off to retrieve Arthur’s clean clothes from the laundry. He passed the throne room on the way, glimpsing the Round Table through an open door, still set up from that morning’s meeting.

He slipped in and shut the door behind him, silencing the bustle of the castle and giving him a much-needed quiet moment to himself. He had no time for a break, but even if he used magic he’d never get his chores done, and what was the point anyway? For every chore slain, two would grow back in its place like some sort of bleak, pathetic hydra. He was so tired – tired of cleaning, tired of hiding, tired of lies, tired of the crushing weight on his shoulders, tired of being alone. Just tired.

He ambled around the table toward the spot where he stood during meetings, listening but never participating; he was, after all, _just a servant_. But what did he expect? As far as Arthur knew, he _was_ just a servant; a clumsy, insolent servant – yet a servant who had stood by his king when no one else would, through every battle and every quest. How proud he’d been to sit at Arthur’s right hand at the original Round Table in the castle of the ancient kings, knowing he had earned his place there and that Arthur had at last recognised him as his friend and advisor. Merlin had been sure a new era was dawning, but the promise of that day was never realised, at least not for him; he remained _just a servant_ while all his friends had been elevated to royalty and knighthood.

He reached Lancelot’s seat, held empty to honour him and his sacrifice. _Lancelot…_ How much heavier his burdens weighed without a friend to lean on who knew all his secrets and still accepted him, who didn't dismiss him as a _weakling_ and a _fool._ He drew a finger over the seatback.

***

Merlin knelt on the grass woolgathering while he bundled the herbs he’d gathered, revelling in the warm and dry spring day. Without cold stone and the deafening confusion of the city between Merlin and the earth, he uncoiled and, remaining quiet and still, let the forest offer itself to him unmasked. How ironic that he felt least lonely when alone; here in solitude, his magic synchronised with nature and he became larger than himself, replenishing his spirit with the explosion of life around him as winter receded.

He sensed the squirrel approaching before it emerged from the undergrowth; his tuft-eared friend stopped before him carrying a sprig of foxglove in its mouth and dropped it at Merlin’s knees, and sat and stared at Merlin until he withdrew a hazelnut from his pocket and extended his hand. “You drive a hard bargain.” He laughed as the squirrel inspected the nut before seizing it in its paws and bounding away a few strides, lest Merlin decide to renege on their arrangement.

Pausing in its nibbling of the treat, the squirrel shot up its head, sensing a moment before Merlin the approach of intruders, and with haste transferred its earnings to its mouth and scurried away. The familiar presence held no fear for Merlin, and soon the hoofbeats of two horses approached from behind him, bringing a smile to his face. “Having a lazy day, Lancelot?”

“Actually, I was looking for you.”

Merlin turned to face him with a crooked grin. “Oh?”

Lancelot shrugged. “It’s a beautiful day for an outing, and I miss my friend.” He held up a picnic basket. “I know a spot a few miles from here.”

With a bright grin, Merlin gathered the herbs into his basket and mounted the second horse.

They lunched in a grassy glade abounding in wildflowers, reclining on a blanket.

"How's your shoulder?” Merlin pulled Lancelot's tunic away from his injured shoulder and brushed probing fingers over the bandage, waiting for the frown on Lancelot’s face when he found a tender spot. "It’s mending, but I wish it would heal faster, or I'm going to fall out of shape."

Merlin smiled, “Your wish is my command.” He flattened his hand against the wound. " _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!_ " The warm magic surged through his body and into Lancelot’s, knitting together the sundered flesh of his wound and clearing away all the _wrongness_ he sensed around it.

Lancelot grinned and shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that; it could raise suspicion. But thank you."

Merlin scowled. "You wouldn’t have been wounded at all if Arthur hadn’t tied me to a tree at camp to keep me away from the fighting!"

Lancelot shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Well, he was right to, Merlin. A battle is no place for you; as powerful as you are, you’re still flesh and blood and no match for a trained warrior.”

Merlin gaped. “ _What?_ This from _you_ of all people? I’ve fought beside you using magic since virtually the day we met. Or have you forgotten the griffin?”

“I also seem to remember you enchanted my lance from a distance, and that is how it should be. Let the soldiers do the fighting and stay well behind them to give support when it’s safe to do so.”

“Right, that’s it.” He took one of Lancelot’s gloves out of his bag and tossed it to the ground before him.

Lancelot chuckled, but shook his finger at Merlin. “You shouldn’t make light of the Knights’ Code, Merlin.”

“I’m not making light of anything,” he said, with a mock-serious expression. “You have been challenged!”

Lancelot cocked his head with an eyebrow raised. “To the death, then?”

Merlin laughed. “Yes. You win if you can manage to touch me and I win if you can’t. Agreed?”

“Very well. Ten paces?” Merlin nodded his assent; they got up and stood back to back before walking in opposite directions; Merlin made the most of his long legs and took wide strides, knowing distance favoured him. They reached their positions and Lancelot jogged in place to warm up while Merlin cracked his knuckles.

Merlin rubbed his hands in glee at the prospect of letting off a little magical steam. “On the count of three. One… two… three! _Ástríce!_ ” Merlin fired a beam of power from his hand intending to knock the fight out of his opponent, but Lancelot had anticipated this and dodged to the side before charging at Merlin. “ _Hleap on bæc_!” Lancelot rolled, passing under the energy of the spell. “ _Forp fle_ —oomph!” Lancelot dived and tackled Merlin, knocking the breath out of him.

Too fast for Merlin to react, Lancelot gave his head a gentle twist. “And snap goes your neck, I win.” He jumped to his feet. “Knights one, sorcerers zero.”

Merlin reddened. “Well that was hardly fair.”

Lancelot nodded and cocked his head. “True. Next time I’ll tie one arm behind my back and perhaps it will take me longer than five seconds to kill you.”

Merlin sputtered. “I was trying not to hurt you – you would never have managed that if I weren't holding back!”

Lancelot raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Oh, you think so? What if _I_ weren’t holding back?”

Merlin rose to his feet and pushed up his sleeves, determined to display the true scope of his abilities this time. “Right, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

They resumed their starting positions. “One… two… three!”

With a wicked grin and a flash of his eyes, Merlin slowed time to a virtual standstill, catching Lancelot mid-step. He sauntered over to him, tapping his finger to his lips, thinking; he moved behind Lancelot and resumed the normal flow of time while using magic to yank down his friend’s trousers. Lancelot’s momentum caused him to trip, but to his credit, he managed a graceful roll and sprang to his feet, struggling to pull up his trousers while whipping his head about trying to figure out where Merlin had disappeared to. Merlin whistled his appreciation of the view from behind him and Lancelot spun to find him leaning carefree against a tree. “Oh, you little perv—”

Merlin froze time again, leaving Lancelot’s face stuck in a smirk, with his lips pursed to pronounce “v”. Merlin considered several alternatives but in the end pulled his horse into synch with him and walked her in front of Lancelot, faces inches apart. He moved behind Lancelot once more and resumed normal time.

“—vert _aah_! Holy—!” He leapt backwards, tripping over his trousers again and falling, spooking the horse, sending her bounding off a few yards. Merlin pinned Lancelot fast to the ground with magic.

“Do you give up yet?”

“Never!” Lancelot launched a futile struggle against the force holding him as Merlin sat on his heels beside him, stroking his jaw, thinking of the perfect spell to torment his victim.

“ _Spíðran ácréopaþ_!” He sent phantom spiders crawling all over Lancelot’s body.

“Ack! What… oh God…” He thrashed and went pale. “Why do you even know a spell for that?”

Merlin shrugged with a mischievous smile. “It has its uses.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “Hmm. Let’s see if I can remember that incontinence spell…”

“Alright! Alright, I yield!”

Merlin released him and in a blink Lancelot pounced on him and pinned his wrists to the ground. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

Merlin put on his most innocent expression, and smiled to himself when Lancelot failed to take this as a warning sign. “How about we call it a draw?”

Lancelot frowned. “Now why would I do that when I have the upper hand?” A huge clot of mud flew into his face and hurled him back several feet. “Mrr-ryn!” Merlin laughed as Lancelot struggled to wipe his eyes and nose clear. “That was low, Merlin. Very low.” He spat mud.

Merlin crouched beside him and waved a hand over him. “ _Áfeorme!_ ” The spell rendered Lancelot’s body and clothes spotless. “I show mercy in victory.” Merlin collapsed to the ground in hysterics, unable to hold back any longer. "Your face… the horse…"

“You think you’re funny but you’re not,” Lancelot tried to maintain a stern expression, but his face cracked and dissolved into a smile. “You know, Merlin, I’m happy to serve as your punching bag whenever you need it, but perhaps in the future there could be fewer liberties taken with propriety.”

“We’ll see.” Merlin couldn’t help pushing a loose lock of hair away from Lancelot’s forehead, and sobering, he sighed. “Sometimes I’m sorry you can’t be what I need...”

Lancelot shrugged. “Sometimes I’m sorry I can’t, too. It would certainly be much easier...” He gave Merlin a sly smile. “Of course if I could, I would merely lose a second love to Arthur.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Merlin flicked his forehead, laughing; Lancelot grabbed his wrists and tutted.

“Language!"

“Yes, mum.” Merlin tilted his head as if in thought as Lancelot stood and refastened his trousers. “Maybe it would work for you if I magicked myself some lady parts...”

Lancelot grimaced. “That is truly horrifying and now I will wake screaming for weeks.” He shuddered and Merlin laughed, delighted to poke at Lancelot’s unyielding decorum.

Later, as they climbed the staircase to the palace, each step seemed to add another pound of weight on Merlin’s shoulders, causing him to slow then halt, sagging and staring down at his hands; Lancelot turned, studied his face. “What is it?”

He slumped, oppressed by the mighty walls of the citadel, reflecting that no man-made structure could keep out harmful forces, and the more he sheltered behind them the more vulnerable he became. Now all that remained of the song of the forest and the strength it had given him was a whisper in the wind, and as he withdrew behind the walls of his burdens and secrets, the afternoon faded to a pleasant dream upon waking, alluring but of reach. He sighed. “It’s just… I can’t tell you what it’s like, to have to hide… how good it was to be free today, to share who I really am, and I just wish…”

Lancelot placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and peered into his eyes. “Your time will come, Merlin.”

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know anymore.”

Lancelot gave him a wistful smile; the same one he wore as, arms outstretched, he stepped into the veil between worlds in Merlin’s place and it shut behind him forever.

***

Merlin snapped out of his reverie with a quiet sob. A sudden weakness in his legs made him drop to his knees beside Lancelot’s chair. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t stop himself, his heartache had built up too long; he tried to keep quiet, but his grief overwhelmed him, and his sobs heaved out of him and echoed throughout the chamber. “No…” He missed Lancelot so much, and remembering what he had lost, what it meant to share everything with a true friend, gave power to his pain and loneliness.

“Merlin.” A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Startled, he spun his head to face the intruder, wiping his face with his sleeve, ashamed to be seen crying like the girl Arthur always claimed he was.

Percival knelt beside him, eyes wide and moist. “He was important to you.”

Merlin rubbed his eyes with his palms, and responded with a shaky voice. “He was so… He made me feel…”

"Like everything would be all right?” Merlin nodded, unable to make eye contact – exposed like this in front of a man he didn’t know very well despite their years of service together, he felt small and awkward. Percival rose and held out his hand. Merlin hesitated, reeling and embarrassed, but he grabbed hold and Percival pulled him to his feet. “Before we came to Camelot he talked about you all the time, Merlin. He loved you – his love will always be with you.”

That sent Merlin into tears again, and Percival grasped his shoulders, his hands gentle and warm. Desperate for the kindness and understanding Percival offered, so lacking in his life, Merlin fell into his embrace, rested his head against his shoulder, his breath hitching with sobs.

Percival stroked the back of Merlin’s head. “It’s okay… shhh, it’s okay. He wouldn't want you to be sad. He'd want you to be happy and live well for him." Percival held him until he quieted and Merlin was grateful for the security of strong arms – rather than the withering ridicule he would have suffered had Arthur found him.

***

They sat perched between crenellations atop the western tower, legs dangling over the edge, watching the sunset. “You know, Percival, I’ve never asked how you came to know Lancelot.”

Percival’s eye twitched. “That might be a story for another time.”

Merlin tilted his head, pushed aside his own worries. “How about the nutshell version, then?”

Percival sighed. “After my village… After that I wandered alone, burned up inside with hate and anger, and did… bad things. He found me… and saved me. He taught me to take my anger and put it to a better purpose.”

“To protect the weak and defenseless and to fight for justice? All that knighty stuff?”

Percival smiled, staring into his lap. “Something like that.”

Merlin nodded. “’The most noble of them all...’”

Percival turned toward Merlin, eyes widened but brows furrowed. “When he came back—”

Without thinking, Merlin turned to face Percival, his voice ringing with authority. "Nobody returns from the dead, Percival. _Our_ Lancelot gave his life for us all. Remember _that_ Lancelot."

Frowning, Percival stared off into space for quite some time. It felt good to clear Lancelot’s name with someone he had been important to, but perhaps he’d been rash because he couldn’t reveal _how_ he knew if asked. Percival nodded, then turned to Merlin and gave him a bright smile with warm eyes. “Thank you, Merlin. I knew that inside, but I needed to hear it.” Merlin smiled, grateful that Percival never seemed to ask for explanations.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, watching as the sky turned through hazy reds, pinks and oranges and answering flickers of yellow lights appeared in people’s homes to ward off the falling dark.

Since the day Percival had defended him from Arthur, Merlin felt a connection to him – wanted to get closer to him, and now, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, Merlin leaned into Percival’s pleasant, comfortable heat, a heat that gave him the butterflies he had whenever around Arthur – but these came without the corresponding dread and pointless longing. Their eyes met and Merlin’s heart skipped a beat as a wave of awareness washed over him – of the kindness in Percival’s gaze, his beauty, and good God his body, and sometimes, like now, the way he looked at Merlin…

Shaking himself from these thoughts, a flight reflex kicked in and he drew back. “Well, I'd better go attend his majesty. He's probably beside himself by now trying to find me.” Merlin tried to play cool and slapped Percival’s knee, much harder than he meant to, startling him; he winced and climbed off the battlement. “Are you coming in?”

“I think I’ll sit here a while longer. It's nice out.”

Nodding in understanding, Merlin paused and laid his hand on Percival’s shoulder and smiled, grateful to him for taking so much time out of his day to comfort him. "Percival… thank you. For today... It really helped."

Percival gave him a wavering smile. "I'm glad. Any time, Merlin. See you later."

Merlin spiralled down the tower reflecting upon how this day had ended better than he expected. Yes, he’d get a mighty shouting-at for skipping all his chores, and yes, he couldn’t escape the leech tank forever. But one dressing-down was a small price to pay for an impromptu afternoon off and finding solace where least expected; and by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs the burden on his shoulders weighed a touch lighter.


	4. A Day in Camelot

_...Ahead loomed a circle of great standing stones, and in the middle stood a man, his face hidden in shadow, and at the sight of him a sudden awareness struck Arthur cold to the core. The man reached toward him and Arthur wanted to scream, hide. The ring burned white hot, seared Arthur’s flesh; he tried to pull it off but the effort made him lose his balance and he fell, plummeting to the rocky ground far below._

Arthur woke in a sweat, grabbed for his ring finger with a shaking hand, but found only his wedding band. He slumped back into his pillow. Why was this happening to him? Is this how Morgana’s fall began? Was the man in his nightmare the monster he was doomed to be? If someone as just and compassionate as Morgana had become so twisted and evil, what would happen to a man like _him_?

***

Gaius studied Merlin, who sat opposite him with his elbow on the table, his sleepy head resting in one hand while the other scooped rather unappetising gruel out of a battered wooden bowl with an even rattier old spoon, his face wrinkled in a scowl of distaste.

After decade upon decade of practice and experience, Gaius had refined the communication of rebuke through facial expression into a fine art; in this, even Uther had acknowledged him as the highest authority. He arranged his eyebrow to read, ‘If you don’t like your food, _you_ can get up early and cook.’

Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry Gaius. I just wish we could have some honey with this.”

Taken aback at this suggestion that they break routine, Gaius reflected that young people loved to violate convention, not understanding that without routine, the more mature individual sank into confusion and discomfort. “But it’s not Friday…”

Merlin slouched with half-closed eyes as he stirred the congealing matter in his bowl. “Yes, that’s just it though, isn’t it? Why can’t we have honey on Tuesday, or Thursday if we feel like it?”

His temperature rising, Gaius huffed and slapped his spoon down on the table, startling Merlin. “Because it is a luxury we cannot afford, as you well know. Maybe if you were better with money…”

Merlin winced. “I’m sorry, Gaius. There’s so little, and it always seems to disappear so fast.”

Ashamed for scolding, Gaius softened, tugged his eyebrows into their most benign position; he couldn’t fault Merlin for his generosity; what he didn’t send Hunith of his meagre pay he often gave to those in need and spent little on himself. “Merlin, you’ve been with Arthur for nearly ten years. I’m sure you could ask him for a raise.”

Merlin dropped his hands into his lap and stared into his bowl, lips pursed. “If he thought I was _worthy_ of an increase, he would offer it.”

In truth, Gaius suspected the lack of a pay rise had nothing to do with how Arthur valued Merlin’s worth and everything to do with that fact Arthur never had to think about money at all, outside of the grand scale of the Kingdom’s finances, and would be mortified to learn he’d left Merlin wanting; but Merlin’s stubborn pride allowed no obvious solution. If Gaius went behind Merlin’s back and spoke to Arthur, he’d certainly give Merlin his raise, but Gaius would never so humiliate and anger Merlin. 

In any case, he doubted Merlin should encounter any trouble getting as much honey as he wanted with beauty like his, at least judging by the inane giggling of every female servant he spoke to or smiled at; no doubt the kitchen staff kept him well-fed with illicit treats.

Still, he couldn’t bear the boy’s sulking, so he rose with audible creaking and snapping and shuffled over to the cupboard to retrieve the honey jar, and proclaimed as he swept, well alright, shambled with _aplomb,_ back to the table, “Well then, it’s settled – from now on we’re adding Honey Tuesdays to our menu.”

Merlin laughed, his eyes crinkling as his face lit with a radiant smile. To keep it there, Gaius spooned a rather large gob of honey into Merlin’s bowl before attending to his own. The gruel had cooled, however, so the honey sat in a sad glob atop the hardening mass.

Merlin peeped up at him with an expression that asked, “Well?”

Gaius sighed. “All right,” he said with a raised finger, “but just this once.”

Merlin smiled and rubbed his hands together. _“Onhǽte þá socþan!”  
_

They dug into their magic-heated meals with gusto.

As Merlin reached the dregs of his bowl, he grew pensive, poking at the remaining clots of gruel. Gaius frowned, guessing the boy’s thoughts had returned to the ambush. “Have you given any more thought to how Morgana’s forces were able to find Arthur? Any ideas about who might have betrayed him?” Gaius prayed it wasn’t yet another traitor at the heart of Camelot; that had grown beyond tedious, and after Morgana and Agravaine both, Gaius hated to think how Arthur would be affected by further treachery. Uther had once been as generous and big-hearted as Arthur, but loss and betrayal had warped him into a merciless and bitter man; what a tragedy if Arthur should be hurled down a similar path.

Merlin shook his head. “The only people who knew our route but didn’t come with us were Gwen, Geoffrey, and Aron, and it’s hard to believe it could have been any of them. So either one of the knights has been subverted, or they used some other means.”

Gaius nodded, thinking. “Morgana has the Sight, but that’s not at all a reliable way of determining when and where someone will be…”

Merlin scraped the last bit of his breakfast out of his bowl. “We’re not even sure it’s Morgana. If only I had been able to catch the raven… but that black hole in the sorcerer’s mind, and what came from it…”

Gaius reached into happy memories of his years with Alice, when they’d studied phenomena like this as both sorcerers and scientists, and he well understood the dangers of losing oneself in the mind of a patient. “That black place was the gateway into his unconscious, Merlin. It is that part of us that dreams and gives us flashes of intuition, but also where lies our innermost doubts and fears. Your instincts were correct; if you had entered there, you might never have found your way back. As for what you saw, it could merely have been a vivid nightmare or a metaphor for something traumatic the sorcerer had experienced.”

Merlin shook his head in doubt. “I don’t know, Gaius. What if it was a memory? Or a vision? I think it was a real man, and I felt his power – it was beyond anything I’ve ever known, except maybe the Cailleach, and destiny seemed to fracture around him... I hope this is not a new enemy.”

Gaius hated the worry in Merlin’s expression, so he rolled his eyes and moaned, trying to lighten the mood. “Let us hope not! Your plate is already full enough – you hardly need any more monsters to slay.”

Merlin grinned. “Speaking of monsters to slay, time to go wake his majesty.” He downed his cup of water, jumped up from the bench and ran off.

Gaius called after him, “What about the monsters in the leech tank?” He smiled and shook his head when, as usual, he got no response.

***

Merlin tuned out the clashing metal sounds of knights battering each other silly as he sat cross-legged on the edge of the practice green mending a pair of Arthur’s trousers, at least in those few moments when he wasn’t distracted by just about anything. His current diversion was a ladybird that kept climbing to the top of a blade of grass, buzzing its wings as if to take off, then dropping back down the blade only to repeat the manoeuvre. Was it having trouble launching or was it indecisive? He picked up the bug on his finger and gave it a gentle puff of breath to help it fly off to achieve its destiny, but it fell to the ground on its back a couple of feet away and took a few moments of wild struggle to right itself and continue its pointless meandering.

Spring had arrived in full force; the air carried the sweet scent of blossoming flowers with an earthy undertone as the pearly rays of the afternoon sun heated the damp earth and grass. Merlin shrugged off his jacket in the unseasonable warmth, allowing a gentle breeze access to his body through his threadbare and ill-fitting tunic. Seated beside him in a chair with her needlepoint in her lap, Gwen tutted. He turned to face her. “What?”

She shook her head. “Merlin, your clothes are rags. That tunic has been patched so many times I doubt any of the original material is left.”

Merlin glanced down at his favourite tunic, the blue one... well, maybe it was a tie between this one and the red one – accounting for all his tunics. “It’s comfortably worn,” he said, defensive.

“No, it’s just worn. What happened to that lovely jacket I got you for the wedding? You never wear it anymore.”

Merlin reddened. “Err, it doesn’t fit anymore. I think maybe I’m getting fat…”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “It isn’t fat, Merlin, you’re incredibly… never mind. The point is, your appearance should reflect your station, and I—”

Merlin’s temperature rose. Easy for her to say, with enough money to feed half the city’s homeless devoured by _her_ wardrobe. “Excuse me, that’s—”

“Merlin! Let me start over. What you wear day-to-day is one thing, and what you wear to formal functions is another. How you look reflects upon the kingdom. If the king’s own manservant dresses like a pauper…” She raised her hand to cut off the objection he opened his mouth to issue. “…people might think the kingdom is poor and weak.”

Merlin flushed and scratched the back of his neck. “Gwen, I can’t afford anything else. Besides what I send to my mother…”

“Merlin, there is a royal seamstress, you know. Maybe you can—”

“No. Just no.” He shivered. “That woman is creepy. Those massive spectacles…”

“Merlin! It isn’t her fault, and someday you might need spectacles. I don’t see how that’s creepy…”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s not the spectacles that make her creepy, it’s the way they magnify her leer.”

“Merlin, she does not leer! She’s 80 years old!” Merlin blinked and rolled his eyes. “All right then, I’m taking this into my own hands.”

Merlin frowned. “What?”

Gwen smiled. “Just come to my chambers after you’ve got Arthur cleaned up. Now let’s watch our boys.”

Merlin stared at her, puzzled, until Arthur’s laughter drew his attention to his duel with poor Sir Caradoc, sweat pouring down his flushed face and struggling to defend himself. Arthur was toying with him, dancing around Caradoc’s futile efforts to land a blow and smacking him in the rear with the flat of his sword or even his hand, which caused several on-looking knights to laugh and Caradoc to redden to a deep crimson. Arthur grew bored and kicked Caradoc’s legs from under him and made him yield.

Merlin didn’t understand how humiliation was supposed to motivate people, but Arthur’s methods seemed to produce quality knights, and besides, no one was forced to become a knight, although to be frank, Merlin couldn’t understand why anyone would _chose_ to. Imagine having to get up early every day to have orders shouted at you, get battered upside the head all the time and be dragged about the kingdom in all weather to deal with repetitive crises and go on boring patrols… oh. Right. Perhaps he should take a vow to give up thinking – too depressing.

A steady clanging of swords off to the side drew his eye to Percival and Leon’s engagement. With his attention always focused on Arthur, Merlin had never studied Percival at practice. In battle, Percival served as the battering ram, smashing a hole in the enemy line for the others to charge through; but against Leon, he moved with a deliberate grace that belied his size, and Merlin found the flex and play of his arm muscles as he swung his sword riveting.

“Careful, you’re drooling.” Gwen’s soft voice at his ear made him jump.

“What? No! I’m…” She accented her knowing smile with a raised eyebrow and Merlin blushed. “Alright, maybe a little.”

“So Percival, is it?” Though friendly, her smug expression made Merlin defensive.

“It’s nothing. I guess I’ve just recently noticed there’s more to him than I thought.”

Gwen nodded. “So beyond his arms, you’ve noticed… his lovely eyes? His handsome face? His tight bottom?”

“Gwen!” Merlin turned beet red.

“And such huge hands. It makes you wonder what else he’s got that’s huge. Maybe—”

Merlin slapped his hands over his ears. “La-la-la-la! La-la-la-la!”

Gwen laughed and shoved his shoulder; he gave her a grudging smile and returned his attention to the duel.

Percival pressed his attack, forcing Leon to back away, wilting under the onslaught and soon unable to bear the weight of Percival’s heavy blows; his sword fell from his hand and he threw himself backward to avoid a swing, fell to the ground with a grunt and found Percival’s sword pointed at his face. Cheers erupted from the spectators and both men smiled as Percival hauled Leon to his feet and they grasped wrists, laughing. Percival turned and spotted Merlin, who punched the air and cheered for him. Percival gave him a wide smile and a wave that took Merlin off-guard and caused another bout of butterflies to flutter through his stomach.

He sensed eyes boring into the side of his head and turned to catch Arthur jerk away. Had Arthur been staring at him? What did his strange pinched expression mean? Arthur stood leaning on his sword eyes fixed on the ground while his four young trainee knights shuffled about, nervous and fidgety. Arthur snapped his head up, made a ‘come at me’ gesture with his hands, and ordered with unnecessary volume, “Right then, let’s try all four of you at once.” The men glanced at each other in confusion and Arthur raised his voice and jutted his chin. “You heard me, attack. Give me all you’ve got.”

Odd, Merlin didn’t think he’d ever seen Arthur do this in training before. The men circled the king, reluctant to close, but Arthur sprang to the offensive launching a side-kick into Caradoc’s stomach while swinging his sword in a fluid motion to parry a blow from Bors. He pivoted with a slash at new-ginger-what’s-his-name who stumbled back to avoid being struck, and Arthur’s blade ended its arc knocking into Gaheris’ head with its flat side, dropping him like a stone. Caradoc struggled to his feet and Merlin winced when Arthur punched him in the face, knocking him out.

Despite his flagrant showing off, Merlin cheered Arthur on anyway; he turned laughing to Gwen, to find her staring forward, her face a stony mask. “Gwen? What’s wrong?” She ignored him; Merlin had no idea why she should be upset.

By the time he turned back, the fight had ended, with Caradoc and Gaheris out cold and Arthur’s boot pinning Ginger face down by the neck and his sword at Bors’ throat. This thrilling display of prowess made Merlin’s chest flutter. Arthur wasn’t an ordinary man, he was a force, as deadly and unstoppable as the sun, and witnessing him subjugate four men with such speed and ease made Merlin feel weak and inferior – and perhaps jealous that it wasn’t him being subjugated.

Hearty applause sounded, joined by Gwen as she stood, now with an icy smile on her face. Merlin of course rose with her, and Arthur let his captives go, alarmed by her expression. The applause faded into intrigued murmuring as everyone realised something unusual was happening and gathered around.

Gwen nodded at Arthur and Percival in succession. “I see before me two great and victorious warriors…” she said, in her best haughty voice, which in all honesty Merlin found embarrassing and pretentious, “…but the queen desires a champion and she can have but one. Which shall claim this right?”

Merlin gaped. What on earth was she doing? By issuing a challenge, Arthur and Percival would be forced to fight or appear unchivalrous or even cowardly.

Merlin prayed Arthur would make this into a joke and they could all laugh it off, but aware he was in trouble, Arthur chose discretion over valour. After exchanging glances with Percival, he approached her and fell into the required formula: he dropped to his knee, kissed her hand. “My lady, it is my intent to fight for the right to be your champion, and I wonder if you would honour me by allowing me to carry your favour into combat.”

“You may,” she responded, cold and tense, and with a violent yank ripped a sleeve from her gown, and both Arthur and Merlin flinched in surprise. She handed the makeshift favour to Arthur, who wound it around his arm.

She wasn’t done. “But this is an unfair advantage. As there are no other ladies present, whose favour shall Sir Percival wear? Well, I suppose he shall have to ask Merlin.”

 _OH MY GOD._ With every eye now on _him_ and the knights chortling at his expense, Merlin wanted nothing more than to crawl away somewhere and die, but instead he took solace from running scenarios through his head featuring Gwen’s violent demise. Arthur loved to call him a big girl, but he would never formally cast him as a lady in front of all his knights! How could Gwen do this to him?

Arthur clenched his teeth so hard that his head trembled and Percival reddened, though no doubt many shades lighter than did Merlin. Gwen’s comment had sounded like an order and Percival took it so. Fidgeting and head dipped, he approached Merlin through a chorus of bawdy catcalls and knelt before him, and Merlin was thankful he had the sense to cross his arms over his knee rather than take Merlin’s hand to kiss it. Neither of them ventured to make eye contact in the palpable awkwardness. “Merlin, will you allow me the honour of carrying your favour into combat?”

If Merlin said yes, he’d be subjected to merciless teasing for months, but if he said no, he would embarrass Percival further, and _still_ be subjected to merciless teasing for months, so he had no real choice to make. He considered ripping off Gwen’s other sleeve _with her arm still in it_ , but instead removed his neckerchief and handed it to Percival, who tied it around his arm to universal cheer. Blushing and wincing, Percival raised his eyes to Merlin’s. Again, the contrast between his crushing strength and the vulnerability in his boyish face sent a warm tingle through Merlin and he had to arrest his hand, which had moved of its own volition, inches from touching Percival’s cheek. He lowered his arm and gave Percival a weak smile; Percival looked away with a slight tremor, and Merlin hoped he hadn’t somehow added to his shame.

Percival and Arthur rose and moved to the middle of a large circle formed by the knights, all gathered now to watch the contest. Percival bowed to Arthur, who responded with a nod. Having now adopted the formulaic ritual of a tourney, the lack of a marshal to call a beginning to the match left both men unsure what to do and they glanced about, hapless, no doubt because endless conditioning to mindlessly obey convention and authority had addled their _thick heads_.

“Well get on with it then!” Every head whipped around to face Merlin, who slapped his hands over his mouth, not having intended to say that aloud. Percival’s eyes shot wide and Arthur gaped at Merlin with a sneer of surprise and irritation; Merlin gulped and in a timid squeak added, “Sire?”

Shaking his head along with a reflexive eyeroll, Arthur turned to face Percival and gave him a nod as a signal to begin.

Arthur leapt to the offensive, launching a fierce barrage of blows at Percival, who parried with cool proficiency as he backed away. While they both wielded dull practice swords, a sword was a sword and Arthur appeared to be out for blood.

Merlin’s anxiety gave way to fascination as both men moved with such smooth confidence and beautiful lines that their motions more resembled dance than combat. They differed, however, in demeanour: Arthur had crazy-face as usual when fighting, but Percival maintained a placid visage; Arthur grunted and cried out and levelled an intimidating glare, but Percival remained silent and imperturbable and kept his eyes focused on the contest. Yet Arthur forced Percival to keep on the defensive, and so his victory seemed assured; Percival need only fail to parry one solid blow and the fight would be over.

Merlin glanced at Gwen; her icy mask had melted into pallor and she bit her lip, trembling. His anger dampened; she would never forgive herself if either man were injured. They would still have words, mind you, but at least his urge to perforate her with his sewing needle had faded.

Merlin returned his attention to the duel, which had by now continued far beyond the endurance of normal men, and Percival had retreated in a full circle inside the ring formed by the cheering knights. Then, Merlin detected a turning of the tables. Was Arthur’s assault slackening, his breathing heavier, his movements slowing? Percival ceased backing away and began to advance, his moves aggressive; he had retreated like a panther drawing back to take its spring, and now it was Arthur falling back ever faster, parrying Percival’s thunderous blows with mounting difficulty. Percival was going to win.

Merlin could feel Arthur’s rage and frustration as he struggled to defend himself; a loss would hit Arthur hard, suffering an embarrassing defeat in front of all his knights.

But soon a broad swing by Percival left Arthur an opening. His counterthrust threw Percival off balance; he lost his footing and fell to one knee, holding his arms out in surrender as Arthur’s sword whipped to his throat to the deafening roaring of the knights. Merlin was unsure for _whom_ they were cheering, because if _he_ could tell Percival had thrown the match, they must all know too.

If Arthur felt ashamed, he hid it with grace, raising Percival to his feet, slapping him on the back and laughing as they left the field. Arthur approached Gwen and knelt to return her favour; she reached out to touch him but pulled back as if unworthy. She tried to kiss him on the cheek when he rose, but maintaining his forced smile, he detached his hand and spun away to confer with Leon. Merlin’s attention moved to Percival, wading toward Merlin through a crowd of congratulatory knights. He reached Merlin and removed the neckerchief from his arm, shoulders hunched and unable to make eye contact. “I’m sorry I let you down, Merlin.”

Merlin blinked dumbfounded, then broke into a huge smile. “Are you serious? That was brilliant! Do you know what my life would have been like for the next month at _least_ if you hadn’t… if he had lost? He could use a dose of humility now and then, anyway.”

Percival shook his head. “He wasn’t in top form, Merlin, and I’m sure he knows it. He was too reckless at first and used up his strength. I don’t think I could beat him normally.”

Merlin shrugged. “Whatever. It was still brilliant.”

Percival flushed and handed him his kerchief. “Sorry, it got sweaty.”

Merlin laughed and draped his soggy trophy over his shoulder. “It’s alright, it’ll dry.”

“ _MERLIN!"_

Merlin threw up his hands in apology. “Duty calls!” He saluted Percival and bounded after Arthur, who kept several angry paces ahead of him until they reached his chambers.

Arthur strode to the changing area, waved away the serving boys drawing his bath, and waited for Merlin to remove his armour. As Merlin approached, he caught Arthur glaring at the kerchief still draped over his shoulder, damp with Percival’s sweat. He removed the offending garment without ado and stuffed it into his pocket.

Merlin knelt to remove Arthur’s boots, and Arthur placed his hand on Merlin’s now-vacant shoulder to maintain his balance. When he withdrew it, a hand-shaped mark of sweat remained. Merlin stood to remove Arthur’s vambraces, suffering in the awkward silence; Arthur had not said a word since he ordered Merlin to follow him. Merlin made no move to break the silence; Arthur was no doubt angry with both himself and Gwen for this afternoon’s events, and Merlin hesitated to throw himself into the line of fire. At last, Arthur cleared his throat. “Merlin…I…”

“It’s alright.” He smiled at Arthur and tapped his shoulder to signal he should raise his arms over his head so Merlin could slide off his chainmail, after which he worked to unfasten Arthur’s arming doublet. “I’ll admit I was… horrified at first, but it’s kind of funny now if you think about it.” Arthur hummed his doubt. “What got into Gwen, anyway?”

Arthur threw up his hands. “The hell if I know. Maybe it’s her time of the—”

Wide eyed, Merlin clapped his hand over Arthur’s mouth, lowering his voice to a furious whisper. “Are you mad? And you’re one to talk!”

Arthur ripped his hand away. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Nothing, sire.” Arthur squinted at him but let it go.

Merlin finished with Arthur’s doublet and moved on to his tunic, drenched and clinging to him so tight that his body hair was visible through the thin fabric. Merlin’s eye ticked.

Arthur’s breath still came fast and heavy; Merlin couldn’t remember an opponent taxing Arthur so much since Lancelot, not even Gwaine, and Merlin wouldn’t have ranked Percival in such a high category of skill. Intriguing.

“Arthur…”

“Hmm?”

“Ah, I was wondering… In battle, Percival doesn’t use much finesse – but today, in both duels, he was cautious and defensive – why is that?”

Arthur nodded, eyebrows raised. “You’re finally paying attention, Merlin. Percival can use his size and reach to make short work of a score of the enemy if he’s facing indifferently trained men or has surprise…” Merlin tugged Arthur’s tunic over his head, growing dizzy at the heady heat and smell of Arthur’s sweaty body and averting his gaze from his glistening muscles. “…but he also has excellent discipline and patience, so against someone skilled, he’ll start on the defensive and use his great strength to wear down his opponent before pressing his attack.”

This tacit admission surprised Merlin and inspired him to poke the bear. “So you’re saying Percival is physically superior to you.”

In a blink he found himself in a headlock. “I think, Merlin, you should worry more about who’s physically superior to _you_.”

“Ugh, gross! Let go! You’re sweaty and disgusting!” Merlin batted at Arthur helplessly while committing this scenario to memory for use later at bedtime.

“Am I, Merlin? Maybe you can help me with that.” Arthur grabbed Merlin by the hair and used his face as a towel, rubbing it across his chest and jammed him nose first into his armpit.

“Let go of me, you prat, I’m going to be sick!” Merlin hoped the bulge of his kerchief in his pocket was enough to hide his embarrassment. Arthur let him go and, grinning, gave him a playful box to the ear before retreating behind the changing screen. “Ow.” Merlin rubbed his ear then took advantage of the time to splash Arthur’s sweat off his face in the tub while desperately thinking of dead puppies and Gaius naked.

Arthur emerged from behind the screen undressed and Merlin froze, hit hard by a strong sense of déjà vu as his dream came back to him – the scene was identical, the lighting, angles, every sight and sound exactly the same.

Merlin realised that he was staring, long and hard, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at Arthur’s body. Sure, he’d always stolen glances, and sure, Arthur had probably noticed on a few occasions, but now Arthur had grown still as stone. _Shit._ Heart thumping, he shut his eyes and braced himself. He didn’t think Arthur would try to drown him, but would he dismiss him from his service in contempt? Send him to the stocks? Punch him in the nose? Opening his eyes, he dragged them up to meet Arthur’s gaze, but instead of anger, he found a cocky smile.

“Do you like what you see, Merlin? Well get your fill, I realise it’s impressive.” He turned in a full circle for him and Merlin held his hand over his eyes in mortification. Arthur dropped into the tub and threw his head back, laughing with abandon. “I think your talents are wasted as a manservant, Merlin. Perhaps I’ll promote you to Royal Fool.” _  
_

 _Great, glad to be of service._ He should have known the giant narcissistic exhibitionist prat would fancy being ogled. Surprising he didn’t hold court in the nude.

Merlin wondered what other humiliation loomed; these things always seemed to come in threes. Had he disturbed a druidic shrine or inadvertently insulted a gypsy woman or something? All he needed now was for his mother to catch him masturbating and the day would be complete.

***

Merlin shut the doors to Gwen’s chambers behind him and paused facing the door, pushing aside his hurt at the way she had treated him before turning to face her.

Gwen scurried to him and took his hand in hers, her face somewhere between laughing and crying. “Merlin, I am _so_ sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It just sort of spilled out.”

“You mean you _sort of_ used something private I shared with you to humiliate me, not to mention poor Percival, in front of half the army.”

Her eyes watered and she dropped her head. “I know. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Merlin didn’t have it in him to be cruel and he wished he could take back his hurtful words. Poor Gwen’s burdens were heavy too, and she had to endure constant public judgment of her performance as a queen and a woman – with as yet no heir borne. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then her cheek. “I forgive you. They’ll lose interest in torturing me in a few months, a year at most.” She winced. “But what brought that on? Are you and Arthur…?”

She cleared her throat and indicated behind her with a nod, and Merlin jumped to find the seamstress standing silent beside the table. “Uh, what’s this?”

Gwen dragged Merlin to the table. “Merlin, you know Bernice.” They nodded to each other; she had piled beside her the implements of her trade and swatches of material in a bewildering array of textures and colours.

Bernice scanned him from head to foot and licked her lips, her eyes as large a saucers behind glass a half-inch thick, and her predatory grin made him draw his jacket closed. “We’ll begin with the inseam.” She snapped a measuring tape taut between her hands and Merlin jumped with a squeak.

***

Merlin reached for the door handle of the Rising Sun. The rickety planks did nothing to muffle the raucous laughter, shouted conversations and clanking tankards coming from within, the sounds of a full house. He paused, withdrew his hand and turned to leave; he’d had about as much ribbing as he could take in one day and it sounded like every knight in the kingdom waited within. But he also missed Gwaine, who would be hurt if Merlin didn’t show up for his homecoming celebration. Well, by now everyone would be too drunk and happy to pay any mind to him anyway, or so he tried to convince himself. He took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped in.

The moment he did, the room went silent enough to hear the cicadas chirping as every head turned to face him, and Merlin had the sinking feeling that came between dropping Arthur’s breakfast platter and it crashing to the floor.

A voice from the rear cried, “Well don’t just sit there, you brutes, a gentleman _stands_ in the presence of a _lady_!” To a man the patrons rose to their feet, several tottering, except Percival, who remained seated, his face red and his hands over his mouth, both embarrassed and trying not to laugh. Merlin studied the ceiling, shaking his head. _Here we go._

The innkeeper appeared in front of him and bowed, speaking with exaggerated puffery, “Her ladyship honours our _unworthy_ establishment with her patronage…” Merlin kept his eyes on the rafters as the innkeeper took his hand and raised it to his lips to the hoots of the knights, “…and yet this _wretched_ hall, adorned by beauty so luminous, may justly heap towering scorn upon the finest _palace_.” Drunken laughter and cries of “here, here!” punctuated this speech, and Merlin wondered why he never trusted his gut to avoid situations like this. “Barkeep! Bring the highest-quality mead from the cellar for her ladyship! And now, milady, if I might escort you to table.”

“I’ll take it from here, Al.” Merlin lowered his face with a smile as Gwaine took his hand from the innkeeper’s and pulled him into a full-body hug, and the patrons returned to their previous activities. “I’m gone a month and you’ve developed delusions of grandeur!”

Merlin plopped his forehead on Gwaine’s shoulder. “Where were you this afternoon when I needed you?”

“Sorry about that. But don’t worry, they’ll lose interest in torturing you in a few months, a year at most. C’mon, I think you need a drink.”

Merlin nodded his head, and Gwaine dragged him to his table and took his seat on the bench. Confronted with packed benches, Gwaine bellowed, “Well, Sir Caradoc? Make room for the Lady Merlin!” Peals of laughter broke out at the table.

“Et tu, Gwaine?” He smacked Gwaine on the back of the head for good measure. Percival sat on the end opposite, next to poor Caradoc, who sported a swollen nose and a spectacular black eye. The two scooted apart and made room for him and he squeezed between them.

Part of Merlin had hoped Percival wouldn’t be here, to spare them both the embarrassment after the day’s events, but since he was here Merlin determined to force himself to do something to break the tension. Eventually. He peeked at where their arms pressed against each other. His own had bulked up some over the last couple of years but remained sticks compared to Percival’s. Although taller than average, next to this giant of a man he felt like an awkward boy again. He slowly swept his eyes up to meet Percival’s gaze through his lashes; Percival’s scrunched smile betrayed his struggle not to laugh. They both jumped when two flagons slammed onto the table in front of them, sloshing over and striking a candle, making it hiss and adding a wisp of sweet-smelling smoke to the musty-old-book scent of the mead.

“T’finest mead for t’lady ‘n’ her champion, comp’ments of t’ propri’t’r.” The barkeep struggled with the memorised line, frowning with his arms crossed, his close-set eyes nearly meeting his singular eyebrow as he rolled them, shaking his head as he departed. Merlin and Percival glanced at each other; Percival shook with silent laughter.

Merlin smiled and shoved Percival with his shoulder. “Well, I guess that wasn’t so bad…” Percival wore far too innocent an expression and Merlin braced himself. “What?”

Percival grimaced. “Well, at the rehearsal―”

“ _What._ ”

Sir Gingalain, one of the older knights, jumped up on a table to cheers and whistles, strummed his lute and sang:

_"Ho, boy, hey, boy, come, come away, boy,_   
_And bring me my longing desire:_   
_A lass that is neat and can well do the feat_   
_When lusty young blood is on fire._

_“Let her body be tall, let her waist be small_   
_Her age not above twenty-seven;_   
_Let her care for no bed but here let her spread_   
_Her kerchief upon the devan.”_

Merlin buried his head in his hands on the table. This song was common enough to be sung even in Ealdor – without the tailored lyrics, mind you.

_“Let her have cherry lips, where I nectar may sip,_   
_Her eyes be a bright sparkling indigo;_   
_Dangling locks I do love, so that those hang above_   
_Are the same with what grows below._

_“Let her face be fair, and her neck be bare_   
_And a voice let her have that can warble;_   
_Let her belly be firm, for upon it to squirm_   
_Let her bounding buttocks be marble.”_

Gwaine patted his shoulder. “Did you like the indigo bit? That was mine – nobody could think of anything blue that rhymed with ‘below’.”

Merlin’s head shot up in outrage. “ _What_?” Did no one understand the concept of loyalty anymore?

Gwaine shrugged. “I was asked to be on the lyrics committee. I couldn’t say no.”

***

Buzzed and happy, Merlin found life as a lady splendid.  Everyone so polite, touching him all the time, bringing him alcohol, singing him songs about his sparkling indigo eyes and marble buttocks; he would almost miss it in a few months, a year at most, although he’d at least had the sense to take only a polite gulp or two of the drinks people bought him and passed the rest to Gwaine.

Having taken a turn to buy a round, Merlin had gone to the bar to order – but when he got back to the table, someone had stolen his seat! The space between Percival and Caradoc now held Sir Newgingerwhatshisname hunched in unlawful occupation. “Hey! Where am I going to sit?”

“How about your champion’s lap?” Leon, walking by, picked him up and tossed him onto Percival, who caught him and supported him with an arm at his waist, and Merlin, sideways on his lap, threw his arm around Percival’s shoulders to steady himself. Percival didn’t know what to do with his other arm, so he rested it on Merlin’s legs, a wonderful and warm weight. Odd to look down at Percival. Gwen was right, he did have lovely eyes, and he was rather handsome, his shoulder burning hot against Merlin’s forearm. Now _that_ was a shoulder – and such smooth skin. He realised he was fondling the shoulder and stopped. Percival turned and smiled at him, and Merlin grew dizzy, his heart pounding in his head. Had Percival always had those dimples and perfect teeth? And those lips? Their faces were inches apart – Percival’s breath tickled his neck. Now it was getting weird because they were just staring at each other, so Merlin decided he needed to say something.

“Did you get a haircut?”

Percival blinked. “Uh, yesterday.”

“Can I touch your head?”

Percival smiled with a raised eyebrow. “If you must.”

Merlin ran his hand up and down the back of Percival’s head. Stubbly like a brush. “This feels really good.” Percival laughed and Merlin narrowed his eyes at the knowing look Gwaine gave him. Why did Gwaine always give him knowing looks? Gwaine didn’t know _anything._

Gaheris walked by with a bandage around his head. Merlin hadn’t realised Arthur had hit him so… Ugh, Arthur. He had to get up early tomorrow for the hunting trip. “Sorry, gentlemen, I’ve got to head back. His Majesty expects me to attend him before dawn.” He slid off Percival but longed to return to the heat.

Percival yawned. “I’ll go with you, Merlin, I’m done for the evening.”

This produced an immediate chorus of wolf whistles and catcalls and the predictable off-colour remarks about what rewards the lady might offer her champion. Gwaine smirked and gave Merlin another knowing look and Merlin made a mental note to slap him later.

They waded to the door and headed off into the cool night.

Merlin wouldn’t later remember what he talked about as they wended their way back to the citadel, but he was sure babbling was involved, far past the point where Arthur would have smacked him upside the head; but Percival never lost his twinkling grin and responded with funny faces whenever Merlin said something odd. They paused in front of the entrance to Gaius’ tower. Only the occasional screech of a cat and the muffled stamp of the patrolling guards invaded the silence of the empty courtyard. Percival raised a hand to wave goodbye. “Well, Merlin…”

 _Carpe diem…_ “Hey, I had a lot of fun tonight. You and I should get together soon and do… something.”

Percival paused, staring at him and scratching at his temple. “Like what?”

Drink made Merlin bold; he stepped into Percival’s personal space. “I don’t know, hang about, do what we did tonight… whatever.”

Percival’s questioning eyes darted over Merlin’s face. “Uh, sure, Merlin, any time.”

Despite Percival’s fidgeting and broken eye contact, Merlin decided to press on. “How about the day after tomorrow when I get back? I can slip away after I feed the pra… king his dinner.”

Percival studied the pavement. “Alright, I’m usually in my quarters then, drop by if you want. Good night, Merlin.” He turned and walked away.

“Good night…” Well, that was awkward. Had Percival said yes to be kind, or did he _want_ to meet up with him? Merlin thought he’d detected a spark between them earlier, but was he reading what he wanted into the situation? He’d hate it if his misreading made Percival uncomfortable around him, because he’d enjoyed his company tonight.

Merlin went back to his room and flopped down on his bed. His tunic still smelt of Arthur; he sniffed it and little Merlin took notice, having waited for attention all day, and Merlin dutifully slid his hand into his trousers. _Now where were we?_

_“Ugh, gross! Let go! You’re sweaty and disgusting!” Merlin batted at Arthur helplessly.  
_

_“Am I, Merlin? Maybe you can help me with that.” Arthur grabbed Merlin by the hair and used his face as a towel, rubbing it across his chest, then jamming him nose first into his armpit._

_“Let go of me, you prat, I’m going to be sick!” Merlin hoped the bulge of his kerchief in his pocket was enough to hide his embarrassment.  
_

_“Then you should rest for a while –_ on your knees _.” Arthur pushed Merlin down to the floor, unfastened his trousers and pulled himself free. “Open wide.”_

Merlin sighed. This wasn’t working for him; he was so bored with his sad and hopeless obsession with Arthur and his stupid sexy body. Every other day he vowed to give this up, and sometimes he made it for as long as a week, until Arthur would do something ridiculous like stretch in the morning, drawing his thin sleep trousers tight over his perfect arse, or beat Merlin up, or bathe, or smile at him, and he’d return to the thrice-a-day schedule he’d maintained since the very first day he had to dress Arthur. Well, this time he meant it. If he could live without anyone to love him, so could Little Merlin.

He turned his thoughts to his ridiculous and trying day and smiled. _Lady Merlin._ Percival had been rather charming through the whole thing.

He grabbed the kerchief he’d given to Percival earlier and held it to his nose; it smelled of Percival – fresh sweat and bath herbs. Was that sweet flag and rosemary? It carried him back to the warmth of Percival’s lap and the sensation of that strong arm around his waist. He draped the kerchief over his face.

_Percival backed him against the wall, looming over him. The menace and contempt in his eyes made Merlin’s heart thunder; Percival could kill him in an instant.  
_

_“You heard Sir Leon.  We’ve no interest in your opinion, so keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut if for you.”  
_

_“But Percival_ — _”  
_

 _“Do you never listen?” Percival pushed Merlin to his knees, unfastened his trousers and pulled himself free. “Maybe_ THIS _will shut you up.”  
_

When Merlin finished, he grabbed the kerchief to wipe off but changed his mind and folded it neatly on his nightstand and used a sock instead. Perhaps being manhandled by sweaty men all day had fluffed him, but that had been one of his most satisfying fantasies ever, and he didn’t feel pathetic like he did after his Arthur scenarios.

He fell asleep tightly wrapped around his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drinking song is based on a real medieval drinking song with the lyrics altered to apply to Merlin.


	5. Falling

 

_Percival answered his door with a broad smile and engulfed Merlin in a bear hug. “I missed you,” he said, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “How did the hunting go?”  
_

_Merlin pulled back to grin carefree at Percival’s greeting. “Identical to being dragged through two days of muddy, rainy, cold, pointless misery by a grumpy, whiny prat.”_

_Percival laughed and ushered him inside. “Let’s see if we can’t warm you up.” He sat and pulled Merlin into his lap and circled his arms around him. Their eyes met, and Percival smiled at him with rapt attention; Merlin leant forward, tilting his head, parting his lips and…_

Arthur snapped his fingers in front of Merlin’s face, making him jump. “Hello? Anyone there?” Merlin blinked back into focus Arthur’s standard impatient and irritated expression. “What is wrong with you? Where have you been for the last two days?”

Merlin sighed as he resumed folding Arthur’s laundry. “With you?”

“Maybe physically, but your mind, not exactly a model of focus under ideal circumstances, has been elsewhere, elsewhen, elsewhy, I don’t know, but definitely not..." He poked Merlin in the chest with each word, "... _on your job_.”

Merlin conceded the point – after the first few torturous hours of their trip, Merlin had to retreat inward to think happy thoughts or Arthur would’ve spent the rest of his life as a frog. It’s not like Merlin wasn’t used to Arthur by now, and he often even enjoyed their married-old-couple bickering, but did he have to inflict this level of misery on Merlin because the stubborn prat refused to cancel a hunting trip in a downpour, as if determined to spite the rain? And it would be a refreshing change to be around someone who was nice to him once in a while.

Like, for instance, a certain brawny knight. When they met in the throne room, Merlin had been drawn to Percival’s kindness and empathy because that’s what he’d needed. But he also remembered having that strapping body wrapped around him, surrendering control and allowing someone to help him carry the burden on his shoulders, even for a moment… And on the subject of shoulders, the broad expanse of muscle and hot, smooth skin… pressing the whole length of his body against—

“There! You’re smiling again. A weird, dreamy smile.” Arthur narrowed his eyes and studied Merlin, head tilted. “What are you hiding?”

Merlin rolled his eyes while kicking himself for woolgathering while under Arthur’s scrutiny. "I’ve nothing to hide, Arthur.” He spread his arms. “I’m an open book.” _Well, that might be a_ slight _exaggeration…_

Arthur folded his arms. “Well _now_ you look positively impish.”

Merlin had no time for this. “Will that be all, sire?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes further. “Sire, is it? Now I _know_ you’re hiding something. Is there somewhere you need to _be,_ Merlin?”

Merlin groaned inside – such an elementary slip. “No, Arthur, I’m just tired, and I have a terrible headache. Can I go now?” He had been looking forward to his evening with Percival for days, and the sun would set soon – he didn’t want Percival to think he’d forgotten.

Arthur fixed his steely glare at Merlin until he squirmed like a bug under a magnifying glass. “All right, Merlin, you can go… _after_ you do one last thing.” Merlin braced himself, and Arthur paused, before developing a disturbing smile. “I noticed earlier the outer windowsills need scrubbing.”

 _What the…_ “You are _not_ serious.” Arthur nodded toward the window. _He’s serious. For the love of… “_ Arthur, what is the _point_ of scrubbing the outer windowsills?”

“Pigeons, Merlin. I will not have pigeon droppings on my outer windowsills.”

 _Of all the pratly pratishness…_ Merlin flapped his arms in exasperation. _“_ They’ll just come back and poop again!”

“Well then I suppose you have job security.”

***

Arthur also needed his antique helmet collection polished.

_“These are priceless heirlooms, Merlin, my ancestors wore them when they built this kingdom and I hold them in sacred trust. I will not see them tarnish.”_

He also required a bath, and his sheets turned down, and the fire banked, and his schedule for tomorrow reviewed…

Merlin squinted to check his appearance in the small mirror on his wall. He brushed lint off his shoulder and tamed a wild tuft of hair. Between the rainy cold, Arthur, and his nerves, the pounding of his head had mounted to the point of nausea.

He jogged downstairs to the knights’ quarters. Taking a couple of deep breaths to help steady his shaky legs, he paused at the door, straightened his tunic, rolled his shoulders and knocked, heart pounding and palms sweaty.

After a few moments, Percival answered in a sleeveless nightshirt and barefoot, rubbed his eyes, gave Merlin a blank unfocused stare, as if he’d just woke up. “Merlin?”

Merlin's heart shrank and he studied the ground, speechless. He’d been a fool to build this up in his mind into something it obviously wasn’t – Percival hadn’t expected him at all. His feet were huge. _Don’t stare at his feet._ “Oh, I’m sorry, should I go?”

“No, it’s all right.” He yawned, blinked a few times. “Aren’t you cold dressed like that? Come in – the fire’s still burning.”

Merlin’s desire to be alone in a warm room with Percival swiftly bludgeoned to death his reluctance to impose. “Yeah, thanks. It is a bit chilly.” He squeezed past Percival into a spotless and spartan chamber; no personal effects adorned the chamber, not even weapons or arms hanging on the wall. Only the low flames in the fireplace lit the room, so Percival lit candles. “I’m sorry to come by so late. Arthur…”

Percival smiled in sympathy, but his expression melted into a frown as the candlelight illuminated Merlin’s face. “Are you all right? You look terrible.”

Merlin grimaced. “Thanks.”

“Oh. Sorry. I only mean you’re pale.”

“Thanks?” Merlin made a mental note to get a tan.

Percival blushed and shook his head. “No, no, I don’t mean normally – you just look sickly right now.”

 _Terribly pale and sickly._ _This is going well._ His heart sank. He supposed if Percival were drawn to a man at all, it would be to a muscle-bound knight, or perhaps a willowy, pretty boy, whereas Merlin was neither fish nor fowl. Still, he didn’t think he’d imagined their connection the other night. He sighed and raised his hand to his temple. “I’m fine. I’m just tired and have the mother of all headaches.”

Percival furled his brow. “Maybe some other time if you’re not well—”

“ _NO!”_ Percival flinched _._ “I mean, no, a quiet evening would be perfect.”

After an awkward silence, Percival nodded. “I think I can help with your headache. Come over here.” He strode to the large chair by the fireplace, stopping to grab a pillow off his bed. He sat in the chair and indicated the thick wool rug in front of him. “Sit here.”

Merlin’s eyes widened and he gulped. “Oh. Uh… alright?”

Percival waved him over and put the pillow behind Merlin’s back as he sat on the rug leaning against the chair, framed by Percival’s massive legs. _Good lord, his feet are huge. Damn, you Gwen! Dead puppies… Gaius naked…_  

“I’ve been told I’m good at this. Just relax now.” Percival placed his hands on Merlin’s head and massaged his temples with sure circular motions of his strong fingers.

“Oh my God. Oh yeah, this.” He shut his eyes and laid his head back, basking in the wonderful warmth of the fire, while the heat from Percival’s hands seeped into his head and burned through taught cords behind his eyes, allowing all his tension to fall away and his headache faded. Merlin slumped, boneless. _I’m never moving from this spot, ever. They’ll have to feed me here._

***

Merlin startled himself awake with his own snoring. He glanced at the window, illuminated by dusk light… and shot upright, heart thumping – he’d missed serving Arthur’s supper! Wait… he’d served supper… so it must instead be dawn…

Hearing laughter, Merlin searched his unfamiliar surroundings, blinking in the faint light, until he found Percival kneeling on the floor rolling up a sleeping mat, with a wide grin on his face. “For a small man, you have a big snore.”

 _Shit! I can’t believe I fell asleep! Fuck!_ “No I don’t, and why didn’t you wake me?” Had Percival carried him to the bed?

“Yes you do, and I didn’t wake you because you were dead to the world. You must’ve really needed the sleep.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Merlin put a hand to his temple. “What did you do to me last night? That was amazing.”

Percival twiddled his fingers. “Magic.”

 _Irony._ “I’m sorry, Percival. I feel bad you ended up sleeping on the floor. I shouldn't have come by so late.”

Percival laughed. “It’s okay. But you need to get up now, you need to wake the king. Remember, we're leaving on campaign today.”

“Argh, yeah, that’s right.” He sighed and slipped on his boots, wishing he didn’t have to go gallivanting about so soon after hunting. “Well then, I’ll see you in a bit?” Percival smiled and nodded, and Merlin ran out the door bound for Arthur’s chambers. He had lasted, what, five minutes before passing out? Less? Oh God, had he fallen asleep with his head in Percival’s crotch?

Merlin touched his temple where Percival’s fingers had worked their magic. When he decided to overthrow Arthur he would make Percival follow him around all day doing that. Wait, _who_ had told him he was “good at this?” Was Percival seeing someone? No, Merlin would have heard the knights tease him about a lover.

He smiled, picturing Percival carrying him to bed and watching him sleep.

***

They stopped to make camp late in the afternoon. Arthur had driven them hard and the men removed their boots and rested their feet with sighs of relief, but Merlin hadn’t a moment’s respite before Arthur set him to work. “Merlin, there’s a stream about five minutes that way,” he said, pointing in the direction he meant. “Go down with pails and bring us water.”

Merlin gaped. “For _everyone_? There’re fifty men!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “No, Merlin, just for me. I like to keep the troops parched so they don’t need to pee during battle.”

Merlin grumbled and scrounged two water pails. This would take several trips.

“I’ll come help.” Percival took one of the pails from him, earning a squint from Arthur, and Merlin suppressed both a smirk at his king and a sigh of relief for the proffered aid. They headed down the trail to the stream.

The forest teamed with life as the land basked in the warmth of the spring sunshine, the air fresh and earthy, and Merlin’s body and magic started the familiar unwinding he always experienced when alone with nature. Strange that Percival’s presence did nothing to disturb this; walking with him in pleasant silence felt as natural as the trees that surrounded them.

They bumped shoulders from time to time as they avoided muddy puddles along the rough path and Merlin found himself bumping against Percival every chance he got to enjoy the thrill of physical contact. He misjudged a step and nudged Percival too hard to be accidental; he flushed and searched for a plausible explanation, but Percival glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and nudged him back. With a sly smile Merlin shouldered him harder; Percival retaliated, sending Merlin hurling off the path into the undergrowth in a clatter of metal and cracking branches.

Merlin jumped up and back onto the trail. "I'm fine! I meant to do that."

Percival laughed and shook his head, and cheeks and ears burning, Merlin kept a step or two into the lead to avoid any further bumping.

Still, the swing of their arms as they walked occasionally caused the backs of their hands to brush against each other, and one of these times their fingers caught and curled around each other’s, almost holding hands. Percival didn’t pull away, and Merlin’s heart raced. The embrace in the throne room and everything last night could be rationalised as friendly affection – even sitting in his lap at the Rising Sun could be explained away; this, however, a mere light touch, could not be mistaken as anything but intimate. Merlin inched his hand further into Percival’s as they strolled until they were truly holding hands. Charged with electricity, floating on air, butterflies threatening to burst out of his chest, Merlin had to remember to breathe. He chanced a sideways glance and soft grin at Percival, but his eyes remained focused straight ahead and wide as if alarmed, although, Merlin reasoned, he often wore that expression.

When they reached the stream, Percival disengaged his hand and avoided eye contact, and left wondering, a voice of doubt crept into Merlin’s mind; had Percival _wanted_ to hold his hand, or had he _endured_ it to spare Merlin’s feelings?

They found a spot where the water had some depth within reach of the bank and filled the pails. Percival splashed his face to wash away the dust of the road, and Merlin removed his kerchief and handed it to Percival for him to use to dry himself.

Percival took it and gave him a thin smile – still no eye contact. “Thanks.”

They headed back, this time in a much less comfortable silence, which Merlin would break if he didn’t know he’d lapse into nervous babbling. He leaned to one side to compensate for the weight of the pail and Percival relieved him of the burden in silence – avoiding contact between their hands – to carry both. Well, that was sweet, and a relief; the handle had been digging into his hand, leaving an imprint across his palm. But now Percival took a lead of several paces, underlining the sudden coldness between them and an uneasy knot formed in Merlin’s stomach. A few yards before reaching camp, Merlin reached to take the pail back so Arthur wouldn’t tease him for being a big girl. Percival appeared to understand this and offered the bucket back. No one noticed their return except Gwaine, who frowned when he spotted them.

Arthur gave the troops permission to go down to the stream in groups as they returned, so Merlin hadn’t even needed to haul all this water since the men could now fill their own water skins. _A_ _Frog, you prat. A warty, stinking frog_. And he’d be sure to make him princess-proof. Before Merlin had even had a chance to thank Percival for his help, Arthur sent Merlin running around doing and undoing things, and soon he had to make stew for the whole force, so he didn’t speak to Percival again at all that night.

The following morning, Merlin woke before Arthur and crept out of their tent to find Percival sitting outside his own tent, looking fetching with a few day’s stubble, lost in the rhythmic polishing of his sword. His sleeveless tunic showed off the flex of muscle as he drew a rag down the length of his blade, oblivious to Merlin’s approach. “Good morning, Percival!”

Percival glanced up at him before returning his attention to his polishing. “Morning.”

Merlin frowned. At least Percival had made eye contact. “Can I help you with your equipment?”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

The cold response twisted Merlin’s stomach; had he read everything so wrong? Did their walk yesterday put Percival off? Why couldn’t he be as readable as Arthur? Argh! Why was he even thinking about Arthur? Fuck Arthur! If he hadn’t spent the last ten years as a virtual slave he’d have some experience handling situations like these. “Oh, well I’ll catch you later…” He tried not to let his anger – or his hurt – show in his voice.

“Yeah.”

Merlin shook his head as he turned away and he couldn’t even begin to deny that Percival’s reaction stung. _Fine, I’ll give him his space._

When they resumed their march Percival led the rearguard, and despite Merlin’s resolution to give him space, a cloud of disquiet settled over him. He tuned out Arthur, making sounds of acknowledgment at intervals and at the afternoon rest stop, he moped around doing as told by rote. “…sharpen my hunting knife, mend the tear in the tent flap… and Merlin, my charger is looking tense so I’ll need you to go fellate him.”

“Yes sire.” He headed for the horses.

“ _Merlin_.”

 _Uh oh._ That tone never meant anything good. He turned to face Arthur.

“Where are you going, Merlin?” He asked, wearing a fake smile while blinking several times and cocking his head.

“To the horses, sire - you said… oh.” He squinted an eye, flushed.

“Yes, ‘oh’. Take a break, Merlin, go for a walk or something. And come back awake.” Shaking his head and lips pressed together, Arthur stalked off toward Leon.

On his way out of the camp, Percival looked away when Merlin glanced over at him. Percival had still not said a word to him; he wouldn’t make eye contact, and if Merlin moved in his direction, he moved off. Percival’s obvious intention to continue ignoring Merlin hit him like a hammer to his chest. Fine – he’d go off on his own and get some sun. He was, after all, ‘pale and sickly’. He sat on a log to rummage through his bag for an apple, and the log teetered as Gwaine sat next to him, nudging him with his shoulder. Merlin was not in the mood to play and ignored him, so Gwaine nudged him again, and he couldn’t help a small smile.

“ _There_ we go. Why so dark and moody?”

“It’s nothing, and I’m not moody.”

“I’d say it’s something. I want to cry just looking at you.”

Merlin sighed, not up to discussing this. “Something I thought was something turned out to be nothing.”

Gwaine paused to study him, then shoulder-hugged him and ruffled his hair. “Don’t be so quick to make nothing out of something.” Merlin gave him a ‘what are you going on about’ glare, so Gwaine nudged him, and this time Merlin laughed.

***

Merlin woke, startled; looking around, he realised he’d fallen asleep alone and he kicked himself for being so careless.

His chest tingled with overwhelming sense of danger.

He scrambled to pull on his tunic and boots – he detected a tinge of magic in the air and he sprinted back, adrenaline surging and dizzy in near-panic, twisting and darting between the ancient trees and their grabbing branches. As he approached camp, he encountered a sentry whose eyes followed him with a creepy intensity.

Merlin paused. “Hi, Eadric.”

Eadric didn’t respond and gave only a cursory wave as if an afterthought, and continued following him with a hostile glare until Merlin had passed behind him. He frowned at this odd behaviour, his sense of “offness” intensifying. He glanced about to make sure nobody could see him and examined Eadric with the full range of his senses. He gasped – this wasn’t Eadric at all, it was a strange man under a glamour of Eadric.

Shading his eyes, he scanned the entire clearing and a distance into the trees. _All_ the sentries had been replaced by men cloaked in illusion. With no time to waste, he sprinted into the middle of camp and skidded to a halt before Arthur, breathless and shaking. “Arthur, we’re in danger. We—”

“Calm down, Merlin. What do you mean we’re in danger?” Arthur affected impatience with Merlin’s agitation, but his gaze was intent and the heavy hands he’d rested on Merlin’s shoulders grounding and serious.

Merlin nodded behind him. “Who do you see behind me?”

Arthur frowned. “Albert?”

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arm and turned him away from Albert. “Order him to come here.”

Arthur began to turn. “Merlin, what is this supposed—”

Merlin squeezed tighter and interrupted in a hoarse whisper, “Just do it! But don’t look at him.”

Arthur scowled, his body tense. “Albert, come over here!”

They swivelled together – Albert gave off no sign of obeying Arthur – and he bore into them with a predatory glare. Arthur’s eyes shot wide. “To arms!”

The men scrambled for their weapons as a score of crossbows fired in a chorus of _thwips_. Merlin’s eyes flashed and the bolts flying out of the trees slowed in his perception enough for him to track their trajectories. He nudged aside the ones that would have hit any of the running men before letting go – but he’d missed one and he grimaced as a guardsman grunted and fell. Arthur turned toward the source of the volley and Merlin scanned the trees for a safe spot and ran for cover.

The enemy’s sorcerer must have devoted a lot of concentration and power to maintaining his illusions and Merlin needed to find him before he recovered – no time for caution. “ _Ábeþece eall!_ ” He scanned the forest with immense force, peering for miles; the trees, men, boulders, everything, all as transparent as glass, and he uncovered all the advancing enemy, well over a hundred men. But in return, Merlin’s scan stood out to the sorcerer like a lighthouse beacon; he jumped in surprise and turned in Merlin’s direction.

Without actual line-of-sight, they could do little to each other, but now aware of Merlin’s presence, the sorcerer might call for help or launch a desperate attack on Arthur. What Merlin now intended to do would be noticed by everyone, but he hoped they’d be too preoccupied to notice the cause. He shut his eyes and gathered his power until his body hummed with magic and the leaves of the surrounding trees rustled with static; he made sure no Camelot soldiers were in the line of fire as he thrust out his hand. “ _Oferswinge!_ ” The air shimmered in the path of the spell’s energy as if over pavement on a hot day and crashed into the trees opposite, blowing a massive hole through them, pulverising anyone in its way to slam against the sorcerer’s magical shield and blast him backward into a tree, leaves, branches and limbs cascading in its wake. _Augh!_ Much _too strong! “Sceadu hine wreoth!”_ Every eye on both sides swung to the blast point, then in unison whipped to Merlin’s location opposite, but he had cloaked himself in shadow to make himself invisible to them all.

The fighting resumed as the enemy commander ordered a charge. Merlin had kept Arthur in sight, and now scanned the field to find Gwaine, holding his own, and Percival – _staring directly at Merlin._ He froze, alarmed. Surely Percival couldn’t see him? Had his spell failed? Percival frowned and shrugged, and raised his sword to engage a pair of men running at him.

 _Strange._ Merlin moved some distance away, de-cloaked, and stepped back into the clearing. This turned out to be a bad move as he had put himself in the path of enemy cavalry charging out of the forest. Someone screamed his name and he managed to pivot as a mace swung at his chest, but ice drew across his side and he crashed to the ground in a crumpled heap as the horsemen charged past him.

The blow had been glancing, but the spikes of the mace had torn open both his tunic and his side; a hand to where he’d been hit came away covered in blood, and when he moved a pain so excruciating lanced through his ribs that he all but passed out. He wouldn’t endure _this_ again. He placed his hand over the wound. _“Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!”_ He screamed in unexpected, piercing agony as his bones and flesh were forced to knit together while bent at odd angles.

His consciousness slipped away as a shadow fell over him and a blurry man stood over him with a sword raised high to plunge into him, and he thought, _who will protect Arthur now?_ But the man had no head, and he had time to find that strangely funny before everything went black.

***

Light shining through his eyelids woke him. He blinked opened his heavy lids and squinted at the lantern at his side illuminating Arthur’s tent. Merlin lay on his sleeping pallet with Arthur looming over him seated on a stool, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands steepled in front of his face, studying Merlin with an intense gaze. “Awake, are you?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

“All right, I think.”

Arthur sat back and dropped his hands into his lap with a sigh. “What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin swallowed with difficulty, chest tightening. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Arthur nodded, teeth clenched. “Let me help you. Upon being suddenly attacked, you disappeared, there was a huge explosion, then you inexplicably came out of whatever hole you were hiding in to stand in the path of charging cavalry to be struck by a mace, and ended up soaked in blood with no visible injury but for a few bruises. Does that sound familiar to you?”

Too familiar. “I wasn’t hiding in a hole, Arthur, I dived to the ground when I heard crossbows firing. And the mace only glanced me, I guess.

“You guess. The blood?”

“The headless man’s?”

Arthur turned away. “You have Percival to thank for that. He…” Arthur shivered. “…managed rather spectacular feats of arms to save your worthless hide.”

Merlin’s heartbeat quickened – he had no idea where Arthur was going with this. Did he know what Merlin had done? “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Debatable.”

Merlin slumped in relief. “So it’s the stocks, then?”

Arthur shook his head. “Last time you directly disobeyed me. This time… well, if I put you in the stocks on every occasion you prove an idiot, there’d be famine.”

“Oh, har, har, you royal p—”

Gwaine and Percival burst into the tent, and Arthur snapped an angry glare at them. “Sorry princess – we heard voices and came to check on the Lady M—”

Arthur raised a hand. “Not now, Gwaine.”

“Well you’re no fun. How’s our patient?”

“I’m fine Gwaine. Thank you. Thank you both.” Merlin glanced at Percival, pale and brow wrinkled. Worried for him?

Percival grabbed Gwaine’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re not hurt, Merlin. Come on Gwaine, let’s leave the king in peace.”

“But…” Percival cut him off with a yank out of the tent. Well, at least Percival cared if he lived or died.

Arthur sat sagged and staring at his hands, so Merlin put his own problems aside, just as he always did. “What is it, Arthur?”

Arthur shook his head. “Twice now. This can’t be a coincidence. And that blast had to have been magic – although strange we saw no sorcerer.”

Merlin sighed. “Perhaps they had an incompetent sorcerer and something went wrong?” Arthur snorted. “We’re a big force, maybe they heard we were in the area…”

“They just happened to have a detachment thrice our size on hand to intercept us?”

Merlin had no answer, and they sat in silence for a while. Arthur raised his eyes, dark bags under them making him look exhausted and vulnerable. “How did you know the sentry had been replaced?”

Merlin turned away to hide his nerves. “I passed Eadric on the way back, and he didn’t answer to his name – so I touched him, and his chainmail felt like leather.”

Arthur nodded and Merlin sighed and placed a hand on Arthur’s knee. “It might not be a traitor, Arthur, there are many other possibilities – we don’t understand the extent of Morgana’s powers.”

“I hope you’re right, Merlin, I hope you’re right.”

***

Percival’s concern for him after the battle gave Merlin hope, but on the journey home, and in their normal Camelot routine, Percival returned to avoiding him. He continued to dodge eye contact, and when together with the knights, Merlin suspected Percival worked to keep as many people between the two of them as possible. Merlin had blown it. He had made himself see what he wanted to and had mistaken Percival’s kindness for something more, something he had only begun to acknowledge he needed; he’d made unwelcome advances, and now he’d lost a friend.

Two nights after their return, Merlin and the gang went to the Rising Sun; Percival sat with Leon and Gwaine from Merlin. Whenever Percival leaned forward when talking to the men across from him, laughing and looking at ease, a sharp pain stabbed into Merlin’s chest as he remembered the warmth and connection they had shared their last visit here and compared that to how lonely and pitiful he felt now, even surrounded by friends. He had a buzz from his ale but instead of making him silly and happy like usual, he slipped further and further into a dark and melancholic mood. Everyone had even given up the ‘Lady Merlin’ ribbing, sensing the air of awkwardness. Unable to bear any more of this, Merlin got up mumbling he had to get up early the next day before darting out to head home. The door creaked open behind him and he braced himself at the sound of footsteps running toward him.

"Merlin, what's wrong?"

Merlin sighed; not drunk yet, and his tone serious, Gwaine wouldn’t take any dodges. "Nothing, Gwaine, I'm just not in the mood."

"You haven't been in the mood for days. Spill. What's eating you?"

Merlin’s shoulders dropped as he turned to face his friend. "Gwaine, I love you for looking out for me, but I really don't want to discuss this. Can you just let me go home?"

Gwaine put a hand on his shoulder. "This is about Percival."

Merlin shut his eyes and sighed, unable to deny his feelings in the face of Gwaine’s obvious concern. "I feel so stupid."

"Now why would you feel stupid?"

“I thought… I thought something was…I pushed it, and now he looks away every time I so much as glance anywhere near him. I wanted... well, I saw what I wanted to and I was wrong.”

Gwaine smiled at him. “Come here. You still have me.” He gave Merlin a tight hug. “If you need to talk, need anything from me at all, you know where to find me.”

Merlin’s eyes stung. “Thanks, Gwaine. Goodnight.” He turned away to head home.

Gwaine called after him, “Merlin, isn’t there something you’re missing here?”

Merlin stopped and turned. “What?”

“He can’t look away if he isn’t looking.” He flashed a bright grin before heading back into the tavern.

Merlin’s brain throbbed; this was all so confusing. He went home, fell on his bed, and surprised himself by falling asleep.

***

“Gwen… I think these are too small.” His new jacket and trousers clung to his body more like a glove than clothing – at least clothing a non-prat would wear.

“They’re not too small, Merlin. Just come out here and let me take a look.”

He slipped out from behind the screen, self-conscious, posture awkward, keeping his eyes on the ceiling, anxious to get this over with. She clapped her hands together. “Oh, Merlin, you look so handsome!”

“Really?” She gestured to her mirror and he went to study himself. “It’s a little severe, isn’t it?”

Of course the jacket would be in Pendragon colours, red leather with gold filigree and clasps, but did it need to be so heavy and stiff? When would he ever wear this? He did have to admit though that the boots were rather sharp and quite comfortable too.

“It’s just right, Merlin, you look lovely.”

He wrinkled his nose as he studied his reflection, turned his body to view what he could of his backside. He couldn’t go out in public wearing such snug trousers – obscene, even – everyone would laugh at him. “I don’t feel comfortable wearing this, Gwen. It’s too expensive – it makes me look pretentious and I don’t think Arthur will like it.”

“Lord Cynon holds strategic estates on our weakest border, Merlin – we need to impress him, and I told you your appearance reflects upon the kingdom. I’m sure Arthur will appreciate that. And Percival won’t be able to take his eyes off your bottom.” She smacked him on the rear and he squeaked.

“Gwen! Stop that!” He hadn’t even thought of Percival in connection with his bottom, so now he graduated to a new level of self-consciousness.

Gwen pushed him toward the door. “Now go fetch Arthur and let’s greet our guests.”

***

Merlin entered sans knocking as Arthur sat at his desk writing a letter. Without looking up he asked, “What do you want, Merlin?”

Merlin shuffled over to him, flushed and heart palpitating, readying himself for severe mockery. “It’s time to go downstairs.”

Arthur glanced up. “Yes, I’m... guh.” Slack-mouthed, he fixed a dazed stare on Merlin.

“I know, right? Gwen had this made, but it’s too much, isn’t it? Should I go change?” Arthur must really hate the outfit to be left so speechless.

“No, you look… appropriate for the occasion.”

Odd, he had expected a different reaction. “Oh. Well, good, I guess? Are you all right, Arthur? You’re a little flushed.”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” Arthur rose and strode out of the room, without so much as a glance at him.

 _What’s got into_ him _?_

***

Merlin avoided practice after the night at the tavern, but after a week of wretched suffering, he decided he had nothing further to lose by forcing the issue. Percival always took longer than the others after practice to disarm, so Merlin seized this opportunity to catch him alone. When he entered the armory, he found Percival sitting on a bench, half out of his armour, slumped and staring at the ground.

Merlin’s heart beat in his throat and he clasped his hands to hide their trembling. "Percival. Hello."

Percival's head shot up, taken by surprise. "Merlin." He resumed removing his armour.

Merlin let out a shaky breath. "Have I offended you in some way?"

"No." Percival kept his head down.

"Don't you like me?"

Percival answered through clenched teeth. "I like you."

Merlin’s weak and shaky tone betrayed his confusion at Percival’s reaction. "But not enough to speak to me?"

Percival remained silent until he had finished unbuckling his vambraces. "What's the point?"

Merlin's confusion dropped like a stone in his gut and turned to stomach-churning hurt. "I don't… I thought maybe…"

"You thought wrong." He stepped around Merlin to the exit and departed, the door slamming shut behind him, a blow knocking the wind out of Merlin; he collapsed onto the wooden bench Percival had vacated, his legs trembling too much to hold his weight. He didn't understand how he could have so misjudged Percival.

_I guess destiny wants me to be alone._

_***_

Arthur threw his hands in the air. _"_ Merlin, what on earth is your problem?"

 _Now what?_ "Sire?"

"Argh! Don't 'sire' me! You're depressing me. Out with it."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Is it possible, every once in a while, that not everything need be about you?"

"Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin, everything's _always_ all about me. It's one of the benefits of being king."

Merlin’s brain registered that this was his cue for a cabbage-head comment, but all he could manage was a sigh. Arthur frowned. "Alright, away with you. Shoo. Go to the tavern, or pick flowers, or whatever else it is that you do that makes you your annoyingly chipper self, not that you're ever like that anymore."

"But you haven't had—"

 _"_ I said go. George can take care of your duties for the evening. Sometimes it's a pleasant change to have everything done properly."

Again Merlin eschewed a sassy retort and tried to smile, recognising Arthur’s indulgent gesture, but the attempt only pressed his lips together in a white line. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur made shooing gestures, and Merlin left.

He had no idea what to do with himself, so he elected to mope; best to stick with one’s strengths. He wandered around the castle, at first listless and sad, but soon his thoughts fell into a dangerous downward spiral, and as he worked himself into a froth of frustration and anger, the sky grew overcast, and a rising breeze disturbed the banners in the courtyard.

What was wrong with him? Why was he so stuck on Percival after only a few brilliant shared moments? Was he so desperate and lonely that he grasped tight to the first show of affection he received? Or perhaps his issue was how Percival’s rejection made him feel about himself; Percival embodied everything Arthur valued: strong, brave, a powerful warrior, noble of spirit, a man of inviolable honour… everything Merlin was not. So was this, yet again, all about Arthur?

No, this was more than that. Percival had always been a subject of awe for Merlin; he had found him attractive from the start, both in body and character, and he had real feelings for him. He _didn’t_ believe he’d imagined everything; Percival had reacted to him, looked at him _that way_ , shared a level of intimacy with him than was beyond normal for friends… then drew away completely. Why? Because Merlin was a _mere servant,_ the king’s buffoon, unworthy of a knight’s attention? What the hell had he done to merit this treatment? Even if he'd made some bad assumptions, after everything they'd been through, Merlin deserved better.

What he imagined must be a strong masochistic streak drew him up to the battlements where he sat with Percival those weeks ago. He received an unpleasant and heart-stopping shock when he found him there, sitting and staring off into the distance. The breeze rose to a warm wind and caused the door to fly shut behind Merlin. Percival, startled, swung his head around to face him with wide eyes. "Merlin? What are you doing out—"

"I could ask you the same thing,” he interrupted. "This is my spot."

Percival jumped up to leave, and Merlin seethed with anger, flushed with heat and jaw clenched; he wouldn’t let him escape so easily and he stopped Percival with a firm hand to his chest. Lightning illuminated the clouds.

"Why are you doing this? I’m sorry if I pushed you somewhere you didn’t want to go, but I thought we had a connection. So what is it? Is it because I’m _just a servant,_ not good enough for a knight? Do my perverse advances disgust you?"

A bolt of lightning struck the rod atop the tower casting a shower of sparks and Percival draw back; the ferocious wind whipped around them.

Percival met his gaze for the first time in over a week, and Merlin gasped as he recognised his own pain and defeat reflected in them. "You’re good enough for a king, and you're so beautiful it hurts to look at you. You're not meant for someone like me."

Merlin's heart plunged into his stomach, and he stood frozen, staring, unable to breathe. Percival lowered his head, pushed past him and left. Merlin's mind raced, struggling in vain to assemble the bewildering fragments of memory from the last week into something that made sense; but the dawning realisation that Percival wanted him sent a warm jolt through him as if he had been struck by lightning. A few moments later an actual bolt of lightning struck him followed by its thundering shockwave, which pushed him toward the door as if the storm were shouting “Go after him, you fool!”

So he did.


	6. Percival

He sat on his knees in the withered grass, hands clasped behind his bowed head, arms blocking his view of the surrounding clearing. His heaved laboured breaths with his heart pounding in his head and his teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurt… he had nothing left but rage and hate and emptiness, and he couldn't live like this anymore. He screamed inside. The axe wouldn't work, and it lay out of reach anyway, buried in… He had a knife; small, but it would do the job.

Footsteps approached and his body tensed at the intrusion – he must have missed one of them. He didn’t care; it would save him the trouble. The footsteps stopped, and soon a scrape of metal meant a sword sheathed.

"Hello? Are you injured?" A warm voice, ten feet off, unthreatening. Voices lied.

"Go away," he growled. "It's not safe."

"I don't think they can harm me."

" _I don't mean them!"_ The man needed to go away; he would kill him if he didn't go away.

"I'm coming over to you. Is that all right?"

He didn't answer but the man approached anyway, cautious, twigs snapping under his feet. Percival’s body tensed to spring; it could be over in seconds. Boots stopped in front of him. The man knelt.

"Are you hurt? Can I… _Ah_!" Percival grabbed the man's arm when he reached out to touch him. "Well, you have an admirably strong grip, I see." The man wore armour, but not like the others – chainmail. A knight? The man moved even closer, and Percival grabbed his other arm. Why wouldn't the man leave? A yank and he'd rip the man's arm out of its socket; grab him by the throat, and with a strong twist…

The man had no sense of impending doom. "Can you look at me?"

If he did, he'd see things he didn't want to. "No. I can't…" The barest shake of his head and shuddering words belied the fierceness of his grip on the man’s forearms.

"You don't have to look there. Just look at my face. Keep your eyes on me." The unexpected understanding that laced the other man’s words and actions lured Percival into dragging his gaze up. The handsome, even beautiful face that greeted him radiated grace and kindness, and when Percival breathed in a shaky breath, he detected a faint scent of sweet flag and rosemary drifting off the man.

"Are you hurt?"

Percival shook his head, his brain still screaming and incapable of grasping this strange situation. Glancing at his blood-soaked hands, the man asked, "Is this your…" Percival shook his head again. The man nodded indicating their surroundings. "Did you...?" Percival shut his eyes tight, terrified of catching even a glimpse of the aftermath of his work, but he nodded, a small quick bob.

He needed this to be over – no more questions. He struggled with slipping control over his anger – he didn’t want to hurt the man. "You should go."

The man glanced at the knife in Percival's belt somehow understanding what he intended. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Percival had never met a man like this – he spoke like a noble, but he wore peasant clothes under his armour; radiated kindness and calm, but his dark and burning gaze left Percival exposed and small, like a boy, crumbling inside. "You should go." He said again, his voice almost a whisper this time.

"I'm not leaving you here like this." Percival didn't respond, clenched his teeth to fight the trembling that threatened to erupt in him at the kindness this stranger showed him. "But might I trouble you to loosen your grip? I can't feel my hands anymore." Percival let go. "Thank you," the man said as he lifted a delicate hand to Percival's face. Percival found himself leaning into his touch; this small human connection flooded light into his emptiness like a lantern in a dark room and his eyes blurred. The man smiled and brushed his thumb over his cheek, and a wall gave way inside Percival and he sobbed. He hadn't cried, not even after his family… The man said nothing, but he moved his body closer and pulled Percival's head to his shoulder; he stroked his hair while, patient and warm, he waited until Percival emptied himself.

"We need to leave now. Can you stand?" Percival nodded. "Keep your eyes on my face." The man rose and tugged Percival up with him. "I'm going to walk backwards until we're clear. All right? Keep looking at me." They paced together, arms grasped; the man accelerated their pace as they fell into synch, and soon they moved clear, and a suffocating weight lifted from Percival.

Now he could think again, and he couldn't hide from what he'd done. He squeezed his eyes shut. The screams, the sounds of necks and heads breaking echoed in his mind; terrified faces covered with clots of blood coughed up in their death throes accused him in his mind’s eye. They’d all had parents; some had women, or children, that would never see them again now.

The man gripped his shoulders, his voice strong, unwavering in his conviction. "They were bandits. Murderers. They lived off the misery of the helpless; they were a scourge, the worst of the worst."

Percival bowed his head. "I'm a murderer. I'm no different."

The man shook his head with a certainty that brooked no argument. "You didn't kill them; they died when they forsook their humanity. You were merely the agent of the fate they chose for themselves."

The buzz of swarming flies told Percival a different story. He trembled and his stomach churned; the bile rose in his throat. The man shook him. "Look at me! Listen! For every one of these, you saved a hundred innocents. Now take slow, deep breaths."

Percival did; his stomach settled. "Why have you come here? What do you want?”

"I'm here because the villagers sent for me to help them against this band, and I want nothing but to help a good man in need."

Percival shut his eyes. "I'm not."

"A bad man would loot the bodies and walk away without remorse."

"There were others before this."

He expected the man's face to harden, but the understanding in the other man’s eyes surprised him. "Were they men such as these?"

"Yes. And some of Cenred's soldiers."

The man shrugged. "Well, then…"

"You don't understand. It wasn't self-defense, I hunted them down. It wasn't justice, it was revenge."

“What is vengeance but untamed justice?” The man studied his hands, adjusted his sleeves. “Did you ever harm an innocent?"

"No, but even if I would, everyone runs away wherever I go."

The man nodded. "I'm not surprised."

"You didn't. You weren’t scared.”

The man raised his eyebrows. "Well of course I was. I'm not stupid."

Percival choked out a laugh.

The man’s bright grin took Percival’s breath away. "Now let's get you cleaned up and fed, shall we?" The man removed his hands from Percival's shoulders and clasped his wrist in a handshake. "What's your name?"

After so long since he had heard or spoken his name, he had to drag the word out. "…Percival."

The man smiled. "I'm Lancelot."

***

“Begin!” Lancelot launched a furious assault, his sword a blur, and Percival scrambled to parry his blows. He’d never win this way, so he pressed his own attack, hoping to overpower Lancelot with crushing blows. Lancelot met his blade near the hilt and with effortless skill disarmed Percival with a deft twist. He stuck his sword in the ground. “What was your error?”

Percival flushed with shame. “I let you close and gave up my advantage in reach.”

Lancelot shook his head. “That was the _result_ of your error. Try again.”

Percival’s throat closed up. He didn’t know the answer. Nothing he did or said was ever right – he was wasting Lancelot’s time.

Yet somehow, no matter how slow he was, Lancelot never lost patience with him. “Tell me what our respective advantages are.”

“You’re faster and more skilled, I’m stronger and have greater reach.”

Lancelot smiled. “And which requires more skill: attack or defense?”

Percival sighed. “Attack?”

“So let’s test what you’ve learned.” He recovered his sword. “Begin!”

Again, Lancelot took the offensive, but this time Percival didn’t let him get close, backing away and limiting himself to parrying. Percival smiled; he wasn’t yet winded, but sweat poured down Lancelot’s brow. He only needed to keep this up until Lancelot exhausted himself.

Lancelot sneered at him. “Is this all you have, Percival? No wonder your whole family got slaughtered.”

Ice stabbed into Percival’s heart and his world crashed down around him. He had thought Lancelot his friend, but Percival was only a plaything to him. With a shout of rage he charged, and before he connected a swing Lancelot kicked his leg out and he fell in a heap at Lancelot’s feet with a sword at his throat.

“You would have won, but you lost control.”

Percival didn’t care. He pushed aside Lancelot’s blade and got up to walk away. Forever.

Lancelot called after him. “Is what I said true?”

Percival turned to face him, fighting to hold back tears. “No! I couldn’t have done anything!”

Lancelot leaned on his sword. “So why are you upset? What I said only reflects poorly upon me, not you. Even if what I said had been true, do you honour your family by throwing your life away in a pointless fit of rage?”

Percival took a deep, shuddering breath. Lancelot was right. He was always right. Percival returned and dropped to sit on the ground, ashamed and disappointed in himself. Lancelot knelt before him and grabbed his shoulder. “You have it in you to be among the greatest of knights, Percival, but you must learn self-control. We all have in us an animal nature; it gives us strength, drive, and passion, but must always be subject to our higher nature – our human nature, our intellect – which in turn must be governed by a strict moral code – of honour, love, and service. If a man is ruled by his animal nature, then that is what he is: an animal; if his intellect reigns but he lacks a moral centre, he is merely a _cunning_ animal. A knight must have all three. Do you understand?”

“I want to be like that, but I’m not.”

Lancelot smiled. “Fix in your mind the image of the kind of man you want to be, then be that man in all your actions. You will often fail, but never stop trying.”

Percival nodded and fixed the image of Lancelot in his mind.

***

The blade touched his shoulder, burning an invisible brand of honour, the culmination of everything he’d worked so hard for.

“Arise, Sir Percival, Knight of Camelot.”

A knight – and moreover, knighted by the noblest prince into the noblest army.

He rose and a paralysing chill ran through him as he caught something out of the corner of his eye, something vast and terrifying; but when turned it was only Merlin – a trick of the light. He met Merlin’s eyes, welling in fierce pride, an obvious lump in his throat, and for the first time, Percival recognised the strength and spirit of the little man Lancelot had spoken of in such glowing terms. Percival felt a sting in his own eyes and he gave Merlin a weak smile, repaid with a blinding grin that branded him as surely as had the king’s sword.

***

They prepared to embark upon the last leg of the journey, a race to reach the Isle of the Blessed before the screams of the dead returned with the night. Lancelot pulled Percival aside, his voice an earnest whisper.

“Percival, you are like a little brother to me. Well, a very big little brother. So if something should happen to me…”

“Lancelot…”

“…no, listen to me. If something should happen, I need you to do something for me.”

Percival couldn’t bear to imagine a world without Lancelot; the mere thought brought tears to his eyes. “You’ve been everything to me, and there’s nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Lancelot nodded. “Please watch over Merlin for me. He’s much stronger than anyone knows, but he cares only for others and never himself, and his life is more precious than you can begin to imagine.”

The memory of Merlin's fragile, nearly weightless body in his arms, so pale and deathly cold, ignited every protective instinct in him. "I'd do it even if you didn't ask, but you have my word I'll die before I let harm come to him.”

Lancelot patted his shoulder, and his wistful smile gave Percival a chill.

***

Percival stood at the funeral pyre, numb. He had said Lancelot was everything to him, but he hadn’t understood what that meant until he was gone, and now he had nothing. How would he pick himself up and begin yet again? Last time he had Lancelot to carry him; this time he was alone. The knights began to disperse and Percival followed them.

A he passed Arthur and Gwen and he overheard her: "He didn't sacrifice himself for Camelot. I asked him to look after you, and he promised me with his life."

_You're wrong. He didn't sacrifice himself for you. He sacrificed himself for Merlin._

He glanced at Merlin, taking in the black bags under his eyes, cheeks stained with tears, and he remembered his vow and all that Lancelot had taught him. He understood how to carry on: he was a knight of Camelot now, and he would live his life to honour Lancelot and everything he stood for.

***

"You heard Sir Leon. We've no interest in your opinion, so shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you."

For weeks he couldn't close his eyes without seeing the fear on Merlin's face. He had lacked the strength – strength Merlin possessed – to resist the corrupting magic of the lamia; he had disgraced himself and profaned Lancelot's memory. Merlin may have forgiven him, but he would never forgive himself, or ever be worthy of his knighthood again.

***

Percival lay spread-eagled on the cool stone floor of the gallery above the throne chamber. Despite the mild weather and even after a cold bath, practice had left him overheated. Only muffled sounds of the castle’s activity and the occasional birdsong reached him here, and a pleasant breeze wafted through the windows of the main hall.

The creak of the throne room door followed by footsteps in the hall below interrupted his peace. He slid to the banister to find out who had come in – Merlin, gaunt, shoulders bent under whatever burdens he carried, a slack expression so far from the brilliant grin that used to be on his face all the time but had grown rare over the past few years. Merlin shuffled around the table until he reached Lancelot's seat, traced his finger over its back, lost in thought. His mouth curved up in an enigmatic smile, and Percival smiled with him, wondering what he was thinking about.

But soon Merlin choked out a sob, dropped to his knees and buried his head in his arms, crying. A heavy weight settled in Percival’s stomach. His own grief for Lancelot had receded over time until it became a part of him; in comparison, Merlin’s appeared so raw that Percival wondered if he had ever allowed himself to mourn. Not wanting to intrude on Merlin's privacy, he decided to sneak away, but Merlin's crying grew into wrenching sobs so heart-breaking that Percival couldn't just leave him, so he made his way down to the main floor. He laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Merlin.”

Merlin jerked his head toward him, his eyes sunken and cheeks burning. Percival knelt beside him to make himself less imposing. “He was important to you.”

Merlin’s voice trembled. “Yes. He was so… He made me feel…”

Merlin couldn’t find the words, but Percival well knew what he meant. “Like everything would be alright?”

Merlin nodded but didn’t meet his eyes, so Percival stood and pulled him to his feet. “Before we came to Camelot he talked about you all the time, Merlin. He loved you – his love will always be with you.”

His words made Merlin cry again; Percival rested his hands on his shoulders, and Merlin melted into his arms. As Percival held him, and gave him the comfort and understanding only he could give, he let go of his guilt and shame; and into its place flooded something different, something he didn’t yet understand and had long kept buried.

***

Afterward, they sat together between the crenellations on the battlements huddled against the evening chill. The scrawny little Merlin that had brought out his strongest protective impulses all those years ago had filled out and lost his gaunt awkwardness, and now contact with his body flooded Percival with warmth, made his heart pound and his hairs stand on end. He met Merlin's eyes, still reddened, making their blue even more striking, his cheeks streaked with dry tears. Percival’s breath hitched and he forgot how to speak as he lost himself in that face of impossible beauty which concealed nothing. It would be so easy to throw an arm over Merlin's shoulders, draw him in; wrap his body around him and never let go.

"Well, I'd better attend his majesty. He's probably beside himself by now trying to find me." Merlin slapped Percival’s knee, hard, breaking the spell. Of course – someone as important as Merlin didn’t have a whole day to sit around with Percival; his time was up. Merlin rose. "Are you coming in?"

Percival couldn't move. "I think I’ll sit here a while longer. It's nice to be outdoors." He would need time to remember how to breathe.

Merlin laid his hand on Percival’s shoulder, and the touch sent a shiver through his body and he squeezed his eyes shut to maintain his composure. "Percival… thank you. For today... It really helped."

His words launched butterflies fluttering in his chest, but he had no idea what to say or do and settled on an inadequate "Any time, Merlin. See you."

Merlin flashed him a bright and awkward grin before disappearing down the stairs, leaving Percival struggling to control his confusing jumble of emotions. But somewhere inside, a warmth bloomed that made him look forward to tomorrow like he hadn't in a long time.

***

Percival stood with Merlin at the entrance to Gaius’ tower the night of his duel with the king; this had been one of the best days of his life and he didn’t want it to end. The queen had embarrassed him in front of half the army, a small price to witness the expression of outraged horror on Merlin’s face, and although strange to carry a man’s favour into combat, he felt proud and special to be Merlin’s champion. And he’d never had more fun at the tavern, and having Merlin in his lap… amazing, right, and he had wanted to stay like that forever.

But he couldn’t stand _here_ forever. “Well, Merlin…”

Merlin interrupted, his eyes shining. “Hey, I had a lot of fun tonight. You and I should get together soon and do… something.”

Percival’s heart skipped a beat. Merlin wanted to do something with him? “Like what?” _Ugh._ _Like what? Idiot. ‘Sure, Merlin, I’d love to.’_

Merlin stepped closer – closer than people stand, and glanced up at Percival through his lashes, and the heat in his gaze made Percival dizzy. “I don’t know, hang about, do what we did tonight… whatever.”

Percival didn’t understand what Merlin meant. Go to the tavern with the others? Take a walk? “Uh, sure, Merlin, any time.”

“How about the day after tomorrow when I get back? I can slip away after I serve Arthur his dinner.”

So he meant an actual appointed time, with the two of them alone… Percival needed to escape from here fast so he could process everything before nerves made him say something stupid. “I’m usually in my quarters at that hour; drop by if you want. Good night, Merlin.” He turned and fled.

He got to his room, shut the door and pressed his back to it. Merlin wanted to spend time with him. Merlin, best friend and confidant of the king, one of the most important people in the kingdom, the funny, brilliant, most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Why? What on earth would they talk about? But oh my God, Merlin wanted to spend time with him. He pulled off his boots, dropped onto his bed and fell asleep hugging his pillow.

***

Percival sniffed under his arm for the fifth time in as many minutes – still fresh, and the wrinkles of his fingers from the hour he’d spent in the tub scouring himself had gone. He popped another sprig of mint into his mouth. If he ate any more he’d get the runs, but at least he had fresh breath. Right? He blew into his hand to make sure. He pulled on his best sleeveless tunic – the one he saved for special occasions.

He scanned his chambers – spotless; he’d tipped a maid to be extra thorough and he’d still spent an hour after she left going over minute spots she’d missed. Something bothered him though… wait, Merlin didn’t approve of violence. He rushed about pulling all the arms off his wall, and hiding them and anything even the slightest bit martial under his bed.

Merlin would be here any minute. His tried to slow his rapid breathing and pounding heart – he needed to calm down or he’d get sweaty. He laid on his bed… He jumped up. Argh, now he’d have to smooth out the covering again. Not so much as a mote of dust remained on the floor, so he lay down, shivering as his skin touched the cool stone. He spotted the painting of a bowl of fruit on his wall which came with the room when he moved in that he’d long since stopped noticing, but it was of poor quality and Merlin must be used to the fine works in the king’s chambers. He leapt up, snatched the offending image from the wall and tossed it onto the pile under his bed.

The first hour or so after dinnertime he lay on the floor controlling his breathing and thinking about his day with Merlin and smiling to himself.

The second hour after dinnertime worry gnawed at him – perhaps Merlin had been delayed, still serving the king? Yes, that must be it – he should be patient. Arthur could be rather demanding of Merlin’s time. But what if Percival had misunderstood and Merlin had only suggested he _might_ come, a casual statement thrown out in parting? He counted the cracks in the ceiling beams.

By the third hour he wanted to take an axe to the ceiling beams and an ache pulled in his chest. Merlin wasn’t coming. He felt like a fool for letting himself get this invested in a hopeless fantasy. He got undressed, blew out all the candles he had arranged around the room to create the perfect lighting, and slipped into bed. As an afterthought he got up and put on nightclothes – he normally slept in the buff, but in case Merlin showed up…

***

They travelled down the path to the stream, Percival’s eyes fixed on Merlin’s hand, long-fingered, beautiful and perfect, swinging within an inch of his own as they walked, even brushing on occasion, each fleeting contact sending a thrill through him. Merlin stepped on a loose boulder and teetered to regain his balance, his hand hovering behind him, right as the swing of Percival’s arm touched their fingers together and he curled his around Merlin’s. He expected Merlin to pull away but he didn’t. Instead, he slid his hand further and further into Percival’s until they were properly holding hands.

A comforting embrace, a head massage, even drunken lap-sitting in good fun or getting hard while wrestling could all happen between friends, but not this. This quickened his heartbeat, ignited a heat inside him – he wanted this, more than anything, and this alien intimacy confused and frightened him. This was all new to him; he needed time to understand his feelings and to do that he needed to get away from Merlin.

He avoided him for the rest of the day, which he moved through in a daze, until at night when the camp grew quiet, lying in his tent, he had the chance to think. He loved Merlin’s company and Merlin seemed to enjoy his, and he didn’t believe he’d imagined the spark between them. But what could they do? Be together? How would that work? Percival wasn’t blind; Merlin’s heart belonged to Arthur – how could he compete with a king? Would Percival ever be more than a brief diversion?

The next morning Percival kept cool with Merlin, still unsure of his feelings about the situation, but he never wanted to put that hurt look on Merlin’s face again. It wasn’t right to treat him like this – Merlin shouldn’t suffer for Percival’s confusion. Spending time with Merlin made him anxious, but also happy – he didn’t regret their new closeness, and why shouldn’t it continue? Maybe over time Percival would adjust and the anxiety would fade away. So at the afternoon rest break, Percival sought Merlin out. Arthur thought Merlin had gone to bathe, so Percival went after him.

He hiked down to the stream and followed the bank away from camp hoping to encounter him. Rounding a bend, he found him lying dozing on the grass sunning, barefoot with his trouser legs rolled up and wearing no tunic. The sight smashed Percival in the chest like a mace, and he gaped, breathless and shaking.

Percival took pride in his own body, but he was merely bulky and strong. When they’d embraced in the throne room Percival hadn’t missed the increased strength of Merlin’s arms, but he hadn’t been prepared for his slim and beautiful form, long limbed with defined muscles and just the right dusting of chest hair to take the edge off his boyish looks. The forest, stream, the whole natural world, served as a backdrop for his perfection as if it existed solely for that purpose. A new heat erupted in Percival; he didn’t just want to be Merlin’s friend, or hold him in his lap, or kiss him under a tree, he wanted more - he wanted to touch and taste and worship every part of him, do things to him he had only experienced in pale reflection by himself.

But he couldn’t allow himself to surrender to this desire, because when Merlin tired of him as he must, Percival would be left a shattered ruin.

***

 

Percival rose with everyone else when the king entered the banquet hall but kept his eyes on the discoloured floorboard he’d been studying, wishing he didn’t have to endure this. Gwaine nudged him, and Percival snapped his head up. Eyebrows raised, Gwaine nodded toward the king, a smirk on his face. Percival turned to followed his gaze and realised Gwaine had meant Merlin, who looked… _ugh_. A new outfit replaced his usual shabby clothes. The form-fitting garments showed off the beautiful lines of his body, the rich colour of the jacket accentuated his porcelain skin, and he didn’t want to think about what he looked like from behind. The fine cut and gold of the jacket clasps and the collar filigree spoke of high quality and expense. He looked every inch a noble, and if Arthur weren’t wearing a diadem, a stranger would be hard-pressed to decide which of the two was king.

The painful dullness of the banquet did nothing to keep Percival’s eyes from straying to Merlin. Arthur had over-threatened everyone to be on their best behaviour, leaving the knights reluctant to even speak. Arthur and Cynon didn’t seem to have anything in common, and had more or less given up trying to talk to each other, and Arthur hadn’t arranged for any entertainment, fearful of anything that might be beneath the dignity of his guest, some sort of scholar.

Percival leaned in to Gwaine, his friend stewing and grumpy because the servants had been given specific direction to limit his refills. "You need to do something."

"Like what?"

"Anything to put some life into this."

The corner of Gwaine’s mouth rose in an impish smile. "Ask, and you shall receive." He turned to the King. "Sire, if you’ll permit, I think it's time for some entertainment.”

Gwen leapt at the opportunity to save the night. “Quite right, Sir Gwaine. What do you propose?”

Gwaine made a pretense of thinking, stroking his beard and glancing at the ceiling. “How about a joke contest?"

Arthur clenched his teeth and scowled a warning, but no doubt Lord Cynon had been as bored as everyone else and snapped to attention. "Sir Gwaine, what a wonderful idea. Perhaps you'd like to start with one of your own?"

"Me? Oh, okay. Hmm. Most of mine are not suitable for mixed company." A ripple of knowing giggles erupted from the ladies, and he sent a lascivious wink in their direction. "Ah, I know. 'Why did the chicken cross the road?'"

Boos and bread rolls bombarded Gwaine who shielded his face with one hand and grasped his goblet with the other to protect his wine from spilling. Leon called out laughing, "Everyone has heard that one, Gwaine."

Lord Aron, not a person Percival would think of a ‘fun’, recognised Lord Cynon’s interest and ran with the idea. ”Hmm. Even a simple thought – no offence, Sir Gwaine…” Gwaine gave a dramatic eye-roll to the laughter this received, “… even in simple thoughts one can find inspiration. In honour of our esteemed guest, I propose we answer the riddle in the voices of philosophers. What do you think, Lord Cynon? Would you care to go first?"

"That is truly inspired, Lord Aron. Will someone provide a name?"

Aron turned to Gaius. "Gaius?"

Gaius glanced upward for a moment in thought. "Diogenes."

Lord Cynon responded without needing to consider. "She was looking for an honest bird."

Most of the guests didn't understand the answer, frowning in confusion and exchanging glances and shrugs, but a few chuckled and Merlin laughed. Arthur swung his head in Merlin's direction with a predatory smile. "My Lord, it seems my addle-brained manservant somehow believes he has grasped your answer and found it amusing. I think perhaps _he_ should take a turn. Merlin?"

Percival frowned. Why was Arthur always so horrible to Merlin? Ribbing around a campfire amongst friends was one thing, but did he need to publicly humiliate him?

Cynon darted his gaze between Arthur and Merlin and frowned, not understanding the dynamic. "Very well then Merlin, why would Boethius tell us the chicken crossed the road?”

Merlin glanced at Arthur with a serene expression and turned to Cynon. "The proceedings of the chicken, so my nurse Philosophy has taught me, took its cause from the stability of the divine mind, which disposes of all things in due order."

Surprised murmuring arose from the guests, Gaius smirked, and Arthur grimaced like he'd just seen a three-headed frog. Percival had no idea what Merlin had said, but his learned words made Percival feel dim and out of his element.

Merlin’s answer delighted Cynon. "Well here is a welcome surprise!" He stood and tossed a glove at Merlin's feet. "I challenge you to a duel!"

Arthur, still confused at how this had gone so wrong, intervened. "Merlin, you may decline the challenge without loss of honour, as a challenge must be answered only when between equals." He gave Merlin a scowl that said he'd better decline.

Merlin bowed to the king. “His majesty is most gracious to inform his humble servant of his rights.” He bowed in turn to Lord Cynon. "It is my honour to accept, my Lord." Arthur strangled his bread roll to death.

Aron smiled, relieved at the interesting turn the evening had taken. "Who shall be the judge?"

"If I might suggest, my Lords," said Gaius, noticing the eyes all turning to him and having no interest whatsoever in getting involved in this, "No one is more qualified to preside than our own Lord Geoffrey."

Lord Geoffrey reddened skillfully. "Oh, Gaius. You are too kind."

"It is settled then," Gwen proclaimed. "Lord Geoffrey, you may set the rules of the contest."

Geoffrey nodded. "I shall call a notable figure of my choice, and answers must be given without delay, or I shall declare forfeit. We shall alternate, the order determined by coin toss." Merlin and Cynon stepped into the space between the tables, arranged in a large "u", and faced each other.

Aron withdrew a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. "Please call it, Lord Cynon."

"Heads."

"Heads it is."

Geoffrey cleared his throat. "Are we ready?"

Merlin and Cynon answered in the affirmative, their eyes locked with intense concentration. Percival’s heart pounded. This was more stressful than watching a real duel!

"Very well. Why did the chicken cross the road? Epicurus."

"Because it made her happy to do so."

Geoffrey nodded and turned to Merlin. "Hippocrates."

"Because of an excess of phlegm in her pancreas." The ladies “eww’ed”.

"Zeno."

Cynon glanced upward for a moment. "To prove she could not reach the other side."

"Heraclitus."

"Because she could not cross it twice."

"Medea."

Cynon gestured with a clenched fist. "To seek revenge against the rooster and smash her own eggs."

"The Sphinx."

Merlin shrugged. "You tell me." That one produced laughs, even among most of the knights, reminding Percival he was nothing but a bumpkin.

"Alaric the Goth."

"To sack the henhouse."

“Caesar."

"Venit, vedit, transivit." Percival glanced at Arthur, who had paled, his mouth agape.

"Aristophanes."

"Pisthetairos had just expelled her from cloud-cuckoo-land."

By this point the hall had grown silent as the contest commanded everyone’s attention. All eyes moved to Merlin for his turn. “Aristotle."

"The chicken's movement resulted from an actual sensation that was acted upon by the appetitive element of her soul."

"Aesop."

"There was a lion on the other side."

Percival had no idea who was winning. Sheer concentration furled both men’s brows; Cynon sounded more commanding, but Merlin maintained a quiet confidence and his answers bewildered Percival more, which he assumed was a good thing. It was Merlin’s turn again. “Leda."

"Are you sure it wasn't Zeus disguised as a chicken? He's into that kind of thing, you know."

Geoffrey squinted with a twinkle of mischief and turned to Cynon. "Plato."

"For the greater good."

"Plato."

"The ideal chicken must ideally cross the ideal road. Therefore, imperfect chickens in this world cross imperfect roads, imperfectly."

"Plato."

"To get to the essence of the other side."

"Plato."

"Because it is in the nature of chickens, strictly defined in as much as they are chickens, to cross roads."

"Plato."

"Uh…"

"Forfeit! Merlin wins!" The chamber roared with the cheers of the knights, who charged the combatants and lifted Merlin on their shoulders; the ladies tittered, considering Merlin in a new light, while the servants restrained their vicarious triumph. Merlin reddened, but his eyes crinkled in the cheerful grin Percival hadn’t seen in such a long time. Arthur, on the other hand, was grimacing like he’d smelled something foul.

Lord Cynon bowed to Merlin in good humour. "I am humbled. Name your forfeit."

The knights put him down, and Merlin bowed. "Is it true that my lord has but recently completed a treatise on metaphysics?”

Cynon nodded. “It is.”

“Then I shall have a copy.”

Cynon smiled. "It shall be yours."

Gwen stood, clapping, and the rest of the hall followed suit. "Well, said, Merlin."

Arthur remained seated, pale and forlorn, as if his understanding of the world had been overturned.

Percival sat silent amidst the clamour. Of course he shared his comrades’ pride in Merlin, but as he watched him engaged in sophisticated banter with the lords and ladies of the court, he felt so small and foolish. _How could I have ever thought someone like him would ever want to be with someone like me?_

Gwaine returned to his seat and nudged Percival again. "Cheer up, Percy."

“I have nothing to be cheerful about. And don't call me Percy."

"Don't assume something is nothing, when nothing isn't necessarily nothing, but part of something, and honestly, I think you may really have something."

Percival had enough philosophy for one night, so he shook his head and left for bed.

***

Percival stood staring out the open window of his chambers, dark but for flashes of lightning and a faint glow of the dying day that managed to penetrate the storm clouds. He had come here from his confrontation with Merlin on the battlements; he had thought he could continue to carry out his duty to his king if he avoided Merlin, but it was impossible – Merlin wouldn’t let leave him alone, and he couldn’t be so cold and cruel to him anymore. He would have to leave Camelot, leave behind everything, maybe forever, or as long as his pain took to diminish to a dull ache to carry for the rest of his life. He shut his eyes and leant his head against the window frame, but he couldn’t banish the image of Merlin’s face, his body, his smile, the sound of his laugh…

A crash behind him startled him and he whipped around to find a figure silhouetted in the doorway. Merlin advanced on him, and Percival backed against the wall paralysed by a fear like both running in place in a nightmare and teetering on the edge of a cliff, and as Merlin drew near, his eyes reflected the storm – or was it the other way around? And when their lips met, the sensation was more wonderful and terrible than he would ever have imagined; his resistance was overthrown, atomised, and he surrendered, trembling and helpless.

Merlin pulled away, and when he spoke, Percival overheard the distant echo of thunder in his voice: “ _I’ll_ decide who I’m meant for.”

He took another step backward, then turned and strode away and the wind slammed the door behind him. Percival slid down the wall to sit huddled on the floor, his head in his trembling hands, stomach rolling in alternation between dread and joy.


	7. Frustrations

Morgana made up silly and lewd stories to make Merlin laugh as he bounded around her on the path through a garden overgrown with beautiful flowers, some gold, others red.

She knelt to study a solitary black flower while Merlin chattered in childish nonsense-talk. The bloom glistened and her reflection stared back at her from each petal. She picked it.

Merlin stomped his foot. “ _Nooo!_ Why did you do that? You’re so stupid!

Morgana laughed and held the flower out to him. “Don’t be angry, Merlin, we’re supposed to pick these. Look how pretty it is!” He pouted and refused to so much as glance at either her or the flower.

Facing ahead, the path before her wound through a desolate landscape, and worried about how Merlin would endure the journey, Morgana turned, but he had vanished. She whipped to face forward again and thought she spotted a flash of blue far in the distance, so she continued along the trail, which led toward a mountain with a staircase  carved into its side, climbing to a height beyond view.

“Hurry, he’s waiting!” Merlin’s voice resonated across the barren wasteland, sounding deeper and older than his childish self of minutes ago, his expression grave and angry. He stood a few steps up the stairs, waving her on before he turned to ascend. She followed, climbing ever upward, but she fell further and further behind. He waved her on again, but her footsteps grew heavy and difficult, and Merlin diminished to a speck of blue in the far distance.

She slipped and stumbled, and in the moment she took to right herself, day gave into night and she had arrived on the mountaintop. Clouds covered the sky and pulsed with lightning. Ahead of her, Merlin stood in the middle of a circle of great standing stones holding a mask in front of his face, crafted in the form of a hare’s head, with a gaping mouth and dark eyeholes; a weight fell in her stomach and her breath caught.

“Merlin, stop it!”

He remained silent and still. When she reached him, she pulled at the arm holding the mask until it fell away, and she realised this wasn’t Merlin at all, but a stranger wearing a blood red Merlin mask. She ripped it off and gasped; the stranger had no face, and a chill stabbed through her as a fierce wind rose, lifting a whirling cloud of dust and the threads of fate tore as he reached for her, and she screamed and bolted upright in her bed.

Someone knocked at the door. “Morgana? Are you all right?”

No, she was not all right. People don’t wake screaming when they’re all right. Morgana shook her head, still half-way in her dream, which intensified with each recurrence. “Enter!”

Angharad pushed open the door and popped her head in. “Diuin’s force has returned and you’re urgently needed.”

***

To Merlin’s surprise, Lord Cynon answered the door to his guest chambers himself with a sincere smile.

Merlin bowed his head. “My lord wished me to attend him?”

“Yes, Merlin – please come in. May I get you a drink?”

Without thinking, his eyes darted to Cynon’s. Had that been his intention? Why would a great lord treat him as a guest? To put him at ease? “No, thank you, my lord.”

Cynon nodded and gestured to a chair near the fireplace; he sat in another opposite, crossing his legs while Merlin perched with his back ramrod straight on the edge of his, wondering at the strange absence of servants. He picked at the seam of his trousers, not sure where he stood with Cynon – had Merlin embarrassed him with his performance at the banquet? “I hope my lord will accept a humble apology if any—”

Cynon waved off his apology. “Absolutely not. That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. That Camelot’s household servants display such learning is a credit to the enlightened rule of her monarch.”

Merlin reddened and stared into his lap. “His majesty does adhere to the most rigorous standards.”

Lord Cynon burst into laughter and Merlin snapped his head up in surprise. The flash of cheer in Cynon’s intelligent eyes only enhanced his rather handsome features. “Arthur had no idea whatsoever. Pity we can’t have him sit for a portrait with that expression on his face so I might hang it in my bedchamber and begin each day with a nice laugh.” Merlin couldn’t stop a surprised, smothered huff of laughter escaping but he studiously avoided eye contact so he wouldn’t betray Arthur by laughing outright. “Now perhaps you can tell me who you _truly_ are.”

Merlin’s head shot up and a heavy weight dropped in his stomach – was this a trap? “I don’t understand what his lordship…”

Cynon cut him off with a raised hand. “Why would an apprentice to the most renowned of physicians, someone so consummately literate and intelligent as yourself, consent to be a manservant when you could be a valued counsellor in any other court or household?”

Merlin pressed his hand hard to his thigh to control the trembling of his leg. “I…”

“Merlin, has anyone ever told you why my relations with Uther were so strained?” Speechless, Merlin shook his head. “Because I loathed his ignorance and tyranny; his persecution of learning – and the terrible cost.”

Merlin feared where this was going. “King Uther was an ardent champion of scientific knowledge…”

“And yet some branches of knowledge he didn’t tolerate at all.” Cynon stood and Merlin leapt to his feet, prepared to flee. “Merlin, please look at me.” Merlin pressed his elbows to his side, shrinking his trembling form. He obeyed, dragged his eyes from the floor to meet Cynon’s; the lord’s face held only a kind smile and Merlin breathing slowed and deepened. “I think we understand each other. If you ever find your position here intolerable, you will have a place – an esteemed place – in my household.” He extended his hand. “I have enjoyed making your acquaintance.”

Mouth dry and biting his lip, Merlin responded with his own shaking hand. “I… thank you, my lord.”

Merlin forced himself to maintain a normal stride as long as he could before running to hide in an unused chamber to calm himself. The satisfaction he took from someone recognising him as far more capable than an average servant shrivelled into a claustrophobic tightening of his chest at having been _recognised_. How could he been so careless? He had placed his desire to show up Arthur over prudence, and as a result, a total stranger had read his true nature – did the rest of the court have similar thoughts? Arthur?

***

Morgana swept into the infirmary as two of her Blood Guard laid Diuin on the table, pale and unconscious. “What happened?”

Alvarr shook his head. “We don’t know. He’s bleeding internally and his spine has been damaged. He’s gone too long without medical attention – we don’t have the power to revive him.” Morgana studied Diuin. Spinal injuries and no frontal damage meant a blow from behind. “The troops did say there was an explosion.”

Morgana snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes. “The cause of this explosion?” So struck from behind or hurled back against something.

Alvarr shrugged and gestured to Diuin. “If anyone can tell you, it’s him.”

Diuin had magic far greater than Cadoc’s. Only a potent sorcerer could overpower him with such ease… This might be important and she couldn’t afford to lose anyone with magic. She placed her hands on his chest and closed her eyes. _“Efencume, ætgædre, eala gastas cræft ige: gestrice þis lic forod!”_ So much was broken in him – this would be a close thing. She visualised the damage and knit together his fractured bones and severed nerves. _“Efencume, ætgædre, eala gastas cræft ige: gestrice þis lic forod!”_ Diuin’s body convulsed and Alvarr and Angharad moved to hold him steady. _“Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!”_ His convulsing lessened, and after two further repetitions of the incantation, Diuin stilled. “Is he breathing?"

Angharad held a small silver mirror beneath his nose – a trace of condensation appeared and evaporated, and she nodded her assent.

Morgana rubbed her temples; she had not slept well in many days and the healing magic had drained her last reserves. She turned to leave. “You can take this from here. Call me if he wakes.”

***

Merlin sat relaxing on the battlements, sleeves pushed up and barefoot, the faint sound of activity drifting up from the courtyard: the creaking of wheels, the occasional heated conversation, the braying of an ass. The aroma of roasting meat for today’s supper wafted up from the kitchens, which meant he had about an hour left to himself.

He stroked Percival’s bicep, sometimes sliding his hand to trace the deep dip of his triceps. He luxuriated in the weight of those massive arms wrapped around him, rock-hard under soft, silk-smooth skin. He melted into Percival’s chest – a strange and wonderful sensation, like leaning against pulsing, pliable iron and, cocooned in muscle, heat and Percival’s scent of clean sweat and bath herbs, he let his guard down to enjoy being wanted.

Merlin ran a foot over Percival’s and the strained sigh behind him sent a thrill through his body. He laid his head back on Percival’s shoulder, turned to touch his lips to his neck…

“ _Merlin!_ ” Arthur had no idea where they hid, but that didn’t stop his shout from finding them even perched up here.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Ignore him.”

Percival took Merlin’s jaw between his thumb and index finger to guide his face to his own, but this placed the rest of his hand around Merlin’s throat. Light-headed, Merlin arched his back and his breathing quickened, helpless and owned by this powerful man who could snuff him out with a crush of his arms or a flick of his wrist. He thought he might burst a seam in his trousers as Percival’s hot breath brushed his cheek and at last their lips…

“MER _-LIN!_ ” This time the shout echoed through the courtyard, bouncing off the stone walls and rattling the windows.

“Oh my God. Is regicide still illegal?”

Percival laughed as he withdrew his arms. “I think so, but we could start a petition.”

Merlin shook his head. “I’d better go – he’ll be sending out search parties in a minute.” He stood and peeled his tunic away from where the warmth from Percival’s arms and chest had stuck the fabric to his body. “Can I see you after supper?”

“Can’t tonight, I have to meet someone.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows as they put on their socks and boots. “Tired of me already, are you?”

Percival smiled but broke eye contact. “No, it’s only a friend.”

“Hmm.” At the top of the stairs, Merlin shoved Percival aside to give himself a head start and they raced each other down; Percival let Merlin win, but Merlin did a ridiculous victory dance anyway, flailing his arms and skipping in a circle and Percival shook his head, smiling. Ending his antics, Merlin stood in Percival’s space and traced a finger down his shoulder and arm and delighted at the shiver this produced. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, then.”

Percival nodded as Merlin darted off pushing aside his unease that Percival had avoided telling him who he was off to meet.

***

Morgana sat at Diuin’s bedside and grasped his hand; he raised it to his heart. “I owe you my life, my lady.”

Morgana smiled. “So few of us are left – we must stand by each other if we’re to be free.” Free from Uther’s cruel tyranny, now embodied in his son.

Diuin averted his gaze. “I failed you.”

“No. Information is power, and threats exposed are threats half-countered. Now what happened? The troops reported an explosion.”

Diuin shook his head. “It was no explosion. Another sorcerer attacked me – one of great strength.”

A chill raised the hairs on her neck and she dropped Diuin’s hand. _Emrys.  
_

***

Percival’s eyes darted between Merlin’s offered hand, his face, and the bed. Merlin sat on its edge smiling at Percival’s nerves; he took his hand to drag him even closer until Percival stood between his open legs.

Merlin’s own nerves rolled his stomach, his face level with Percival’s waist, mere inches away… A warm chill washed over him as Percival towered over him, and Merlin felt so tiny, so vulnerable, and all he wanted was to throw himself at his feet and worship – with his hands, his eyes, his mouth. He reached for the fastening of Percival’s trousers – but Percival dropped to his knees and placed his arms on either side of Merlin on the bed. Merlin sighed. _I guess we’re_ _still taking it slow, then._

Now on a lower level than Merlin, Percival cleared his throat and gulped, his eyes wide and bright, and Merlin leaned in, inching closer as if not to frighten off a skittish rabbit. Merlin caressed Percival’s face; Percival shut his eyes, and Merlin touched their foreheads together and they sat breathing each other’s air. Merlin waited, growing drunk on Percival’s sweet scent, his heat, even the trembling of his body; he rubbed the back of Percival’s head, hoping to relax him by reminding him of the tavern. He grinned as his tactic worked; Percival smiled, tilted his head up, and his lips met Merlin’s.

This was their first proper kiss; Merlin closed his eyes, and keeping one hand on Percival’s head, he placed the other on his beefy chest over his heart, reveling in its hammering, and when their tongues touched, taking it slow burst into flame and jumped screaming out the window. He circled Percival’s thigh with his leg and Percival grabbed Merlin’s hair to hold him where he wanted him and deepened the kiss. Merlin hurled his entire weight onto Percival, gripping his waist with his legs while Percival clamped an arm around him, squeezing Merlin to his body. Percival tugged Merlin’s head back and attacked his neck with his lips and tongue and as hard as he had ever been, Merlin rutted against the ridged muscle of Percival’s stomach, and oh God, he was already getting close and sweating and panting and…

Percival gently lifted Merlin back onto the bed. “I’ve got to go.”

Merlin blinked and gaped. _What the…_ “Now? You can’t be serious!”

Percival winced and shrugged. “Sorry, previous plans. But I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ve got to run, I’m late – you’re welcome to relax in here if you want.”

He stood, kissed Merlin’s forehead and left, turning to give him a sheepish grin as he shut the door.

Merlin flopped back, banged his head on the mattress several times and groaned as he raised his fists to his eyes. This was not going to work out – Merlin didn’t do frustration well. And who the fuck did Percival keep running off to meet?

And yet, those fleeting moments had been perfect. Merlin loved kissing; he’d made out with half the castle staff at drunken parties, even a scandalised George once on a dare – and nothing came close to the last few minutes.

Percival’s scent suffused the bedclothes, and Merlin drew back the cover to grab a pillow to sniff because he was a pervert, and yes, he damn well planned to bring himself off _right here_. He found a piece of red cloth under the pillow and grabbed it. His heart caught as he recognised the kerchief he had given Percival to wipe his face at the stream that day on campaign.

Merlin smirked to discover that Percival kept it under his pillow – all right, fine, that was too sweet for him to remain angry.

***

“Take your time, Merlin. It would be a pity if the men came to take our arrival for granted.”

Merlin stumbled behind Arthur on the way to the training field with his vision obscured by the pile of gear in his arms. “You could always lug some of your own largely unnecessary equipment if you’re unhappy with the carrying capacity of your pack mule.”

“You know, Merlin, it’s a wonder I haven’t taken to beating you for your insubordination.”

Merlin harrumphed. “Are you joking? You beat me every day!”

Arthur swung around glaring, his tone more threatening than playful. “I think, _Merlin_ , our definitions of ‘beating’ differ. Would you care for a demonstration of mine?”

The edge to Arthur’s banter had grown ever sharper for months now, and having no idea why left Merlin discouraged and frustrated. Everything Merlin did irritated Arthur, as if their underpinning friendship had withered away leaving only the master-servant dynamic, and he hadn’t felt on such shaky ground since his first year of service. “You’re still angry about the thing with Cynon at the banquet.”

Arthur swept off toward the training field, trailing Merlin in his wake. “Nonsense, Merlin. I couldn’t be happier with the outcome – as it turns out, occasionally one of Gwaine’s harebrained ideas bears fruit. On the other hand, I would like to thank _you_ for bringing to my attention the fact that you have so little to occupy yourself that you’re forced to sit around reading all day. Consequently, I’ve instructed the steward to transfer to you duties of some of the more overburdened serving staff.”

Merlin slowed, a heaviness settling in his limbs. “Arthur, don’t even joke. I don’t have enough time for sleep as it is…”

Arthur turned to give him a chilling smile, and Merlin realised his mistake.

“Perhaps some vigorous exercise will increase your energy levels. And isn’t it just the thing, I’ve scheduled war hammer practice for today.”

***

After having spent some time after practice lying on the field praying for death, Merlin staggered into the armoury, his good arm dragging a tarp piled with Arthur’s equipment; the other hung useless after bearing a shield against a merciless battering.

Merlin let go of the tarp, shuffled over to Percival, rested his forehead on his chest and whimpered. Percival had by now stripped down to his unfastened sleeveless arming jacket and his sweat soaked into Merlin’s hair, but Merlin was too sore to be aroused.

Percival reached around him for an embrace.

Merlin cringed at the thought of the pain a squeeze would cause. “No.” Percival arrested his arms and changed their course to settle his hands on Merlin’s shoulders instead. “No.” He raised a hand to pat Merlin on the head. “No.”

Percival bent his knees to peer into Merlin’s downcast eyes, and Merlin appreciated the warmth and sympathy there in contrast to Arthur’s cold steel. “Is there anywhere that doesn’t hurt?”

Merlin raised the corner of his mouth and pointed to his face. “It’s not too bad up here…”

“Hmmm.” Percival rested a hand on Merlin’s cheek and stroked his temple with his fingers. He kissed Merlin on the nose, and repeated this until Merlin gave up his pout. Both of them smiling, Percival gave him a proper kiss.

The door slammed open. “Merlin, where the hell have you…”

They jumped apart, too late. Arthur froze and the colour drained from his face; it took a few moments for him to compose himself and look away.

“When you’re… done here, I’ll be expecting you in my chambers.” He left without looking back.

Merlin turned to find Percival staring at him with an inscrutable expression before he dropped his gaze to the ground. Merlin shut his eyes and sighed, hating that he felt like he’d been caught cheating on Arthur.

***

Arthur glanced in irritation at Merlin, who hummed a cheerful tune as he tidied; he had no business being so chipper with all the calamities besetting the kingdom. Not everyone had time to sit around reading or _despoiling his knights_ what with all the crises and mountains of paperwork to attend to.

With the grim spectre of famine raised by enemy raids and plundering, he’d spent the day in endless haggling with smelly, pushy village headmen, trying to get supplies to stricken areas, not mentioning the thrill of pouring over reams of grain records. To magnify his burdens, Leon had been forced to put down his favourite dog, and disconsolate, was of no help whatsoever. Arthur studied the crescent-shaped scar on his forearm. There should be a banquet to celebrate the demise of that horrible little creature.

Merlin’s humming came to an abrupt halt and Arthur glanced over to find him studying the book he’d left on his nightstand. He cursed himself for being so careless.

Merlin held the book up, puzzled. “What’s this? ‘ _A Dictionary of Dream Symbols_.’

“It’s a book, Merlin. I thought we’d settled you’re rather familiar with them.”

“But why are you reading this _particular_ book?”

And now, Arthur trusted, Merlin would latch onto this like a starving dog his bone until violence ensued. “If you must know, Gwen has been having some unpleasant dreams, so I got it from the library to try to help her.”

Merlin frowned. “You got this from the library?”

Arthur cursed that Merlin knew him so well as to instantly sense this did not add up; yet another consequence of how exposed Arthur had let himself become. “No, Merlin, I won it in a contest with Lord Cynon. Do you have any more inane questions you’d like to ask?”

“But you don’t care for the library…”

“Don’t be absurd, Merlin.” Arthur didn’t care for the library. There were way too many spiders and he’d never have time to acquire the knowledge filling its numberless books, and therefore he resented them.

Merlin opened the book to Arthur’s mark. “’Judgment: being judged in a dream means the dreamer knows deep down that something he has thought morally sound is in reality wrong.’ Hmm.”

“Merlin…”

Merlin turned to another bookmark. “’Dreaming of a desert signifies loneliness, barrenness, feelings of isolation and hopeless―’” Arthur launched from his desk, reached Merlin in two long strides and tore the book from his hands. Merlin flinched away, eyes wide.

“Would you stop prying into matters that don’t concern you and just do your damned job for once?” Arthur was aware his anger was unreasonable, but he was having a Bad Day and Merlin should know better. Merlin jumped as Arthur slammed the book onto the nightstand; he returned to his desk, Merlin’s eyes burning into his back.

By the time Arthur had sat, Merlin, displaying a modicum of wisdom for once, had adopted the strategy of remaining as quiet and unobtrusive as possible as he went about his chores, so Arthur needn’t risk glimpsing the wounded look on his  face. This didn’t help Arthur concentrate on his own work; instead of abating, his anger percolated. He recognised this was irrational and he had no reason… no, he understood the precise reason…no. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t go there. He shielded his eyes with his hand so he couldn’t see Merlin at all and read the same sentence for the fifth time. Then the sixth.

Coinciding with the fourteenth attempt, Merlin came to clear his supper plates. Arthur hadn’t touched his food in hours and Merlin correctly assumed he was done. As Merlin reached for the platter Arthur snapped and again leapt out of his chair and shoved Merlin hard, sending him stumbling backwards and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Arthur had the sensation of watching himself behave this way, powerless to stop, and a little bit of him shrivelled inside to treat Merlin like this. “Did I say you could touch that? You know, Merlin, I’ve always overlooked the occasional missing sausage, but sometimes you go too far!”

Merlin leapt up off the floor, his face red with anger. “I was only trying to ‘do my job’, you ass!”

Arthur grabbed a goblet and hurled it at Merlin. Even before it left his hand he realised what he had done: tired and irritated, he forgot to override his long years of training and let his natural reflexes take over, making his aim true.

The goblet struck Merlin in the temple with a clang, and he went down again, his forehead split and already bleeding.

“Ow! What…?” He struggled to his feet, dazed, holding a hand to his head and swaying, his eyes watering, no doubt from the sharp sting the blow must have inflicted.

Arthur would make anyone who put the stricken expression on Merlin’s face regret it, and here he had done so himself; his behaviour spurred a thickness in his throat, a tightening in his chest, as if he’d kicked a puppy, and yet he couldn’t stop himself responding according to the dictates of his emotional defenses. “Oh, is baby going to cry? A good job my knights don’t break down like little girls every time they get a scratch, or…”

“ _Fuck you_.”

“Excuse me?” Eyes wide, Arthur gaped. Merlin had never spoken to him like this, and even though he deserved it, he was not prepared for the seething anger behind those two words.

Merlin, flushed, teeth clenched and trembling, drew himself to his full height and Arthur noticed for the first time how tall Merlin was, taller than Arthur. No, Merlin loomed over him, and the burning fury in his eyes drained all light from the chamber; Arthur’s legs trembled and his heart skipped as if facing the dragon again, and when Merlin took a menacing step forward Arthur needed every iota of his willpower to stop himself from backing away. Arthur blinked, and opening his eyes found he merely faced an angry manservant.

“Fuck off, you fucking pile of shit. I’m so fucking sick of your fucking… You know what? Fuck this, I’m out of here.” He turned and headed to the door.

Merlin’s over-the-top tantrum and the, well, frankly endearing way he was stomping out made Arthur berate himself for being afraid of him for even an instant. Absurd. “Oh, come on, Merlin!” Arthur meant that to be conciliatory, but even he could tell how patronising that had sounded.

Without turning, Merlin responded with a rude gesture as he left, slamming the door behind him with such force the heavy planks splintered and the hinges cracked, leaving Arthur gaping amidst a cloud of his papers, scattered by the shockwave.

***

Merlin stormed down the hall, a thunderhead of anger, hurt, and humiliation. There was only one place he wanted to be and one person who could give him what he needed right now. He headed straight for his room in the knights’ quarters, slammed the door open and kicked it shut behind him as he charged in.

***

Gwaine stood in the dancing candlelight of his room with a towel around his waist, drying his hair with another. The scent of lavender wafting from the tub reminded him of his childhood and the few years of happiness the world had allowed him with his mother before they lost everything. He had a few minutes to relax until Leon arrived to go over the revised duty roster. Gwaine sighed; he wasn’t drunk enough to deal with Leon, but he’d soon remedy that.

He jumped when his door crashed open, Merlin charged in and kicked the door shut behind him.

“Wha…Merlin?”

Merlin strode across the room in long, rapid strides, whipped off his tunic and tossed it aside. Something boundless roiled in his eyes as he approached like a massive wall of onrushing surf, and heart racing, Gwaine suppressed a cry as he stumbled back and bumped into the table, sending a shower of plates and crockery crashing to the floor, shards of ceramic flying.

Gwaine flailed for purchase, knocked a candle into the curtains setting them on fire and saved a teetering water ewer as Merlin collided with him and their lips crushed together. Merlin grabbed Gwaine by the waist and hair and spun him around, shoving him toward the middle of the room, and Gwaine dashed the contents of the ewer on the curtains before it flew out of his hand, hoping for the best.

“Merlin…”

“Shut up.” Merlin raked his nails down Gwaine’s chest, yanked away the cloth around his waist, and tore at his hair.

“Augh! Not the hair, you little shit!” Gwaine retaliated by twisting Merlin's tit until he let go of his hair.

“Ow, fuck!” Merlin head-butted Gwaine and kicked his legs out sending them both sprawling to the floor, and stars exploded in Gwaine’s head as it hit the floor and everything went white.

_A tongue tickled his neck as something humped his leg. “Mum, he’s at it again! Off, Gringolet!” It’s getting so you can’t go to sleep with that dog around without… wait, he died twenty years ago…_

Gwaine blinked away his daze and shoved at Merlin’s chest, forcing him to sit upright. “Merlin! What…”

Merlin slapped him hard across the face and outraged, Gwaine slapped him back. Merlin slapped him again, swiftly returned, but as Merlin poised to swing a third time, Gwaine grabbed his wrist and bucked him off, sprang to his knees, twisted Merlin’s hand behind him, caught the other and pinned both his arms behind his back with one of his own and put him in a choke hold with the other.

Merlin arched his head over Gwaine’s shoulder, closed his eyes and gasped.

Keeping Merlin locked into place, Gwaine calmed his ragged breathing and seized this first opportunity to take stock. Merlin’s breath came in harsh, wretched pants and his lithe, angular body still writhed with a furious tension as his previous violence subsided to half-hearted attempts to free himself from Gwaine’s hold. Unhinged about something – or rather someone, and no mystery who _that_ would be – Merlin must need this to let off steam and he’d come to _Gwaine_ , so he wanted security, not judgment _. Well, I’m easy._

“I’ve got you figured out, you dirty boy.” He squeezed, not enough to hurt him, and Merlin coughed and renewed his hopeless struggle against Gwaine’s hold. “You strike your betters? You’re just a worthless servant. I could end you now and nobody would care… But I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to give you a lesson in manners.”

Gwaine tightened his grip until Merlin slackened in surrender and gave in to his control, no match for Gwaine’s muscular body and fighting skill. Gwaine glanced down Merlin’s front. _Hmm. Well, I’m doing_ something _right…_ He released his chokehold and stroked Merlin's length through his trousers. Merlin closed his eyes, arched his back and panted open-mouthed.

Gwaine smirked. "You like that, don't you." Merlin nodded. "Do you want me to give you more?" Merlin nodded again with greater vigour. "Say it."

Merlin begged between gasps, "Gwaine... Give me… more…"

Gwaine wrenched his arms upward. "What was that?"

"Ah! _Sir_ Gwaine! Give me more, _please_ , _Sir_ Gwaine!"

Gwaine murmured into Merlin's ear, "Now there’s a nice polite boy. Was that so hard?"

Merlin shuddered and a wet spot spread on his trousers; his tensing muscles signalled he was close, so Gwaine let him go and rose. "Trousers off. Now." He pushed Merlin to the floor and grabbed his ankle to pull off his boot, then the other, while Merlin unfastened his belt and trousers. Gwaine yanked them off. “Get up.” Merlin scrambled to his feet. “Get on the bed.” With giddy excitement in his eyes, Merlin raced to obey and sat on the edge of the large, high bed and leant back and rested on his elbows as Gwaine approached to stand between his legs. Merlin touched himself and Gwaine batted his hand away. He tried again, and Gwaine smacked him alongside the head and seized his wrist. “Finishing before I’m ready is _very_ poor manners. Don’t move and don’t touch yourself or I’ll wring your neck.” Merlin’s eyes shot wide, but his lip curled and he maintained firm eye contact as he fisted his hands in the bed sheets while Gwaine withdrew a bottle of oil from a drawer in his nightstand.

Gwaine shoved Merlin onto his back and hefted his legs over his shoulders, unstopped the bottle, poured some oil in his hand and applied it to himself. He poured more in his hand for Merlin, but the slicked bottle slipped from his grasp and fell with a heavy thump on his toe. “Ow! Fuck fuck fuck.”

Merlin laughed and Gwaine belly-slapped him in retaliation.

“Ow! Oh, you s…!” Merlin thought better of completing that sentence when Gwaine threatened a second slap with a raised hand and pursed lips. Gwaine oiled Merlin up and eased in and Merlin’s breathing accelerated into clipped gasps. "Oh my God that hurts… oh, fuck! Stop stop stop!”

He slapped Gwaine in the head in rapid succession; Gwaine grabbed his wrist. “Hit me again…” With his free hand he twisted Merlin’s tit _hard_ and held it as Merlin screamed and writhed beneath him. “…and I’ll twist that off.” He let go.

“You f…!” Gwaine raised a warning finger and continued to inch his way in. “Fuck! Gwaine!” Gwaine twisted his wrist again. " _Sir_ Gwaine! Fuck!" As Merlin grew accustomed to the intrusion, his swearing gave off to muttering something about Gwaine’s mother and his breathing slowed; Gwaine pushed further, and after Merlin again adjusted to him, he commenced thrusting in a slow rhythm. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and bared his clenched teeth. "Why does anyone do this?"

“Just relax and you'll see _._ ” As Gwaine picked up the pace, Merlin loosened up and his profane screaming evolved into pleasured grunting. Merlin attempted to kiss him in a surprisingly athletic manoeuver – he clamped his legs around Gwaine’s waist, raised his torso, flung his arms around Gwaine's neck and hefted himself up, overbalancing Gwaine, who staggered backward across the room, smashing into his armoire, tipping a vase, a helmet, and some books resting atop it onto the floor in a clamour of shattering glass and clanging metal.

Gwaine regained his balance, but Merlin was too heavy to hold like this, so he staggered back to the bed, hurled Merlin onto it and slipped in the spilled oil to fall rump-first onto the broken glass. “Geeaah!”

Someone knocked on the door. “Gwaine? It’s Leon. Is everything all right?" He knocked again.

"I'm fine! Go away!"

“But my roster…”

“Tomorrow! Go away!”

Gwaine rose to pull out the glass shards stuck in his rear. Merlin sat up, squinting and biting his lip. “Are you alright?”

He glared at Merlin, irritated. “No, I’m not alright, you stupid fuck, I have shards of glass stuck in my arse!”

After extracting the last of them, he climbed up to kneel on the bed, pushed Merlin's legs up by the knees and reinserted himself; Merlin reached for himself, a defiant and naughty expression on his face. “I fucking warned you!” Gwaine grabbed one of Merlin’s wrists, pinned the other under his knee, and placed his free hand around Merlin's throat and squeezed while he pounded into him.

As Gwaine got close, he released Merlin’s arms, but not his throat, and quickened his thrusting. Merlin tugged at Gwaine’s wrist with one hand and grabbed himself with other, arched his body and climaxed in an explosion that rocketed across his chest, plastered his face and lolling tongue, and shot beyond him onto the headboard. Gwaine followed half a minute later; after a series of final, punishing thrusts, he let go of Merlin’s throat and collapsed on top him as his friend coughed, wheezed and gasped for air.

Gwaine rolled off and surveyed his chambers; even the dim candlelight exposed a confusion of upset furniture, shattered ceramics and glass, the curtains still smoking. And now his sheets were stained with blood from his glass cuts. "Merlin, what the hell was that?"

Merlin coughed and shrugged, his voice hoarse. "Just something I needed."

Gwaine detected a conversation or two behind Merlin’s words, but he was too tired to pursue them right now. He sighed, "Alright then. That was strange and disturbing, but I got off, you got off, so mission accomplished.”

Merlin nodded in agreement.

Gwaine wiped off Merlin’s face with the bed sheet, then frowned and dabbed at Merlin's forehead. "You know, you're bleeding. What happened here?"

Merlin placed his hand over Gwaine's and tugged it down. "An accident. It's fine."

 _That’s no acci… Wait, “why does anyone do this”?_ He shot upright. "Oh my God, Merlin, was this your first time?”

“Well, for _that_ , yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Merlin blushed, his eyes flittering away from Gwaine. "Er… because you wouldn’t have done it?"

“You’re damned right I wouldn’t have!” Gwaine buried his face in his hands, realising the extent to which Merlin had manipulated him. “Oh, Lord.”

Merlin pulled Gwaine’s hands away from his face and rested a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Gwaine, I’m not going to regret this or apologise for it, so just deal with it."

Gwaine flopped back against the mattress and sighed. “Well, I guess what’s done is done. Did it hurt?”

“At first, then later only in the best way. It’ll be better the second time.”

Something hard pressed against Gwaine’s leg. “No, absolutely not. I feel bad enough already…” _Oh God - I'm so sorry, Percival…_ “…and I need to pass out now.”

“You can’t leave me like this, Gwaine.”

Gwaine sighed. "Very well, do what you must. I'm going to sleep."

Fortunately, Gwaine was a deep… _Gwaine made sure to tie up the dog before he went to bed. He climbed under the covers, but soon something was again humping his leg. Damn it, Gringolet! He could swear that dog had magic or something._

***

Gwaine woke to faint snoring and someone spooning him. _What the…?_ As he blinked into consciousness, the events of the previous night came swarming back to him. _Oh, fuck._ He sat up, groaned at the state of his chambers and flopped down on his pillow, waking Merlin.

A long minute later, Gwaine lifted his head to face him, and he sucked in his breath and widened his eyes at the bruised split on Merlin’s forehead and the dried blood caked around the wound. “Merlin! My God!” He brushed Merlin’s hair out of the way and Merlin raised his hand to skim his fingers over the spot.

“It’s okay, really. It doesn’t hurt much.”

“Merlin, this is much worse than I thought. You might have a concussion!”

“Gwaine, I’m fine.”

“Mmm. We need to have Gaius… Merlin! What… Did I do this?” Gwaine frowned, fingers tracing a large and ugly bruise on the left side of Merlin’s chest.

“Hm? No. No!” Merlin rushed to reassure him, “That was just an accident. I’m fine.”

Studying him closer in daylight revealed everything Gwaine missed the previous night – a deep bruise on his shoulder, several more of varying severity on his arms and chest; Gwaine ripped away the sheets to find his legs covered with similar marks. He clenched his teeth.

Merlin tried to pull the sheets back over himself, false cheer in his voice. “It’s nothing Gwaine, you know how clumsy I am.”

Gwaine would have none of this and ripped them out of his hand. “Merlin! You sound like a battered wife! I…” He went cold inside as understanding flooded like ice through his veins. “…Arthur did this.” He tensed.

Merlin reddened, but the rapid shaking of his head and the raised pitch of his voice would not distract Gwaine from the truth. “No. Gwaine, it’s nothing. It’s just from training. Most of these are probably self-inflicted – I…”

Gwaine’s blood pressure rose and his tone grew angrier hearing Merlin defending Arthur. “You were bleeding when you came here last night. And upset.” He tapped Merlin’s forehead wound and Merlin winced. “So is this from training?”

Merlin sighed and bowed his head. “No.”

“The rest of these aren’t from training either. Fuck!” Gwaine jerked away awash in a wave of chilling heat, his heart pounding in his ears, and jumped up to reach for a pair of trousers.

Merlin’s wild gaze bounced between Gwaine’s face and his hands. “No, Gwaine, most of it _really is_ from training. Please, just calm down…”

“Right, if ‘training’ means bludgeoning an unarmoured servant with a war hammer. That fucking…” _Arthur is no knight, and no king of his._

“Gwaine, don’t!”

He ignored Merlin and slammed the door on his way out, the bang echoing down the hall.

***

The damaged door shuddered as Gwaine slammed it open, startling Arthur, who sat in his sleeping trousers with his hair awry at the table with his breakfast.

“Gwaine? What…” Arthur scrambled to his feet as he no doubt recognised the murderous intent in Gwaine’s eyes, but too late.

“You son of a bitch!” Gwaine landed a satisfying punch to Arthur’s jaw, sending him sprawling. “Let’s see you beat on someone who can fight back!”

Arthur recovered the second he hit the ground, and face red and eyes burning, he lunged with a growl to tackle Gwaine and took him down, but not before Gwaine connected a fist to his eye.

***

“Shit, shit, shit.” Merlin scrambled to find his clothing; Gwaine had a big head start. He slipped on his boots and careened down the hall, sending servants flying in their haste to avoid him. Furious shouting assailed him even before he turned into the corridor.

“Gwaine, calm down! Sire, no biting!”

 _Percival?_ Merlin skidded through the open door, and his eyes blew wide.

All three men writhed on the floor; Percival had Gwaine and Arthur in headlocks, bearing the brunt of their efforts to reach each other across his body, doing his best to use his legs to block them from kicking one another. Angry welts scored his chest where the combatants clawed for each other.

Arthur appeared to be trying to gnaw his way free, but making no progress he gave up. “Let me go, you great lummox!” He reached in vain toward Gwaine. “And you! I’ll kill you, traitor!”

“Fuck you!” Gwaine elbowed Percival in the ribs, to no effect.

Frozen to the spot by the spectacle of the three men struggling in a topless, barefoot pile, Merlin couldn’t be sure if this was his worst nightmare or his ultimate fantasy scenario.

Gwen whisked past Merlin as she barged into the chamber, followed by two guards. “ _What_ is going on here? Stop it, _right now!_ ”

Percival’s head shot up, wide-eyed and flushing, and Arthur and Gwaine twisted their heads in Percival’s grip to gape at Gwen.

Arthur inhaled to bellow, and Merlin decided to slip away before anyone paid him any attention. Arthur’s angry shouting followed him down the corridor. “Seize this miserable traitor and toss him in a cell! No, not that one, you cretins, him!”

***

“Merlin…” Gaius pushed open the door to find Merlin reclined on his bed with his arms crossed over his chest, sulking. “I've just returned from treating the king. And Gwaine is in the dungeon and, according to Arthur, awaiting execution. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“No.”

 _Of course not._ Gaius stepped into the room, and seeing Merlin’s forehead, gasped and rushed to his side, kicking piles of debris out of his way. He yanked his young charge up by the wrist and dragged him stumbling down the stairs before he could resist. “What happened? Tsk. Merlin.”

He wet a cloth and dabbed at the cut, gently scrubbing away the dried blood. He grabbed a candle to hold it before Merlin’s face to make sure his pupils dilated properly but Merlin flinched, frowning. No concussion then.

Gaius tried to remember his twenties – he was certain he never got into this sort of trouble, even carousing with Uther in his wild days… well, no, that’s not true – they had their moments, like the time with Sir Aglovale’s daughter and the racing pigeons…

Merlin shut his eyes and exhaled. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

Ah. Matters of the heart. Well, Gaius would respect Merlin’s privacy in this matter – he’d soon hear the full story in the castle gossip anyway. He smeared a healing salve over the cut and patted Merlin’s face with a fond smile. “Do you want me to have the king informed you won’t be attending him today?”

“No. I'm sure he already knows.” Merlin regretted his sharp tone and softened, gave Gaius a faint smile. “Gaius, thank you. I just want to be alone for a while.”

Gaius nodded as Merlin retreated to his room; he stood staring at the closed door for a moment, before shaking his head and packing his case to go on his rounds.

***

Merlin thrust his belongings into a bag. He had it with Arthur - had it. While he didn't appreciate being battered at practice, he was sure Arthur didn't usually mean any real harm nor realise he often left Merlin sore and bruised; but he'd gone over the top with the warhammer and he'd deliberately struck Merlin in the head with that goblet, and instead of apologising like a normal human being, he'd heaped contempt upon him and made him feel worthless. Merlin didn't deserve this, and now he had other options to consider. And Percival... Merlin's chest constricted to think about how he'd left Percival to clean up his mess – and how hurt Percival would be if he discovered the nature of the mess. He finished packing, and as he needed to wait for Gaius to return so he could say good-bye, he flung himself on his bed to continue his seething.

Moments later he sighed as the sound reached him of Gaius’ door creaking open and Arthur’s call, muffled through his shut door. “Hello?”

Cautious footsteps approached and climbed the stairs followed by a soft knock.

If that pillock thought he’d pacify him by reading to him in bed, he could shove a book up his royal arse. Merlin rose and opened the door, jaw clenched and glaring.

Arthur rubbed his trouser leg and cleared his throat before making eye contact.  

“Merlin…” Arthur paused as if considering what to say. “I… you see… there's… a, uh, conversation that might be had regarding your overreaction last n―”

Merlin slammed the door in his face.

“Ow.” After a pause, Arthur knocked again. “Merlin… can I try that again? Please?”

 _Oh for the love of…_ Merlin swung the door open, still glaring and poised to slam it a second time.

Arthur threw up his hands. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Just, let me in, all right?”

With his mouth pinched Merlin stepped aside, but his glare would not be abating any time soon. Arthur traversed the path pioneered by Gaius earlier and perched on the edge of the low bed, leaving his knees bent up toward his chest, bouncing with nervous energy. He ran his hand through the hair poking over the bandage wound around his head above his magnificent black eye, which matched the angry bruise swelling his jaw and his swollen and split lower lip.

“Merlin, I―”

“You’re not executing Gwaine.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “Of course I’m not. I was cross, and―”

“Has he been released?”

Arthur sighed. “No. He did assault the king, Merlin. And he really needs to stay there for the night to cool down or he’ll just take another shot at me. Will you sit down?”

Merlin took one step forward but remained standing, arms crossed and temperature rising. He was in no mood to be ordered about in his own room.

Arthur stood. “Merlin, is what Gwaine said…” He stepped forward and reached to pull up Merlin’s tunic, but Merlin jerked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise―”

“You didn’t realise? What didn’t you realise? That I’m mere flesh and blood? That your 'friendly' gauntleted shoulder punches hurt and bruise me? As does whacking me with the flat of your sword, pounding me with a war hammer, and _throwing a metal object at my head_.”

“To be fair, you usually duck.” Merlin stomped towards the door, but Arthur lunged ahead of him and blocked his way. “Look, it was an accident. It was reflex – I would never―”

Merlin shook his head and clenched his fists. “God, you just don’t get it… this isn’t about bruises and flying goblets, Arthur. The way you treat―”

“I know. Look, sometimes things get overwhelming, and you’re always at hand, and maybe it’s because I know you can take it and throw it right back, but…" Arthur’s voice tailed off, and Merlin followed his gaze; Arthur frowned at his packed bag and the folded note on his nightstand labelled 'Arthur'. Arthur stepped over to pick it up and tried for nonchalance. "Are you going somewhere?" He replaced the note without reading it and smoothed down the already flat parchment.

Merlin replied stone cold and nose high. "That's none of your business anymore."

Arthur clenched his fists and reddened. "Merlin, you can't just _leave_ , I'm still your king!"

"No, actually, you're not. I was born in Ealdor in Cenred's old kingdom, so now Lot is my king. You are… were… merely my employer." He hefted his bag over his shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me…" Arthur grabbed his arm when he tried to push past.

Alarm tinged Arthur’s voice. "Merlin…"

Merlin tore his arm away, his anger sparking bright. "Look, fuck off. I've given you _everything_. Everything I do is for you. I've stayed at your side when no one else would, I've put up with your miserable temper, I've served you night and day for _ten years_ , I've even fought a fucking dragon with you. But you? You beat me, you pile horrible chores on me for your twisted amusement, you humiliate me in public, and you've made it clear that I'm _just a servant_ , a moron, a weakling, and a coward so why do you even want me here?"

"Merlin!" Arthur drew back, eyes bulging, his voice a gasp.

Now Merlin was on a roll. "I'm literate, a trained physician, and have administrative experience from doing your paperwork. Any household would gladly employ me – and I’ve had offers –” Arthur’s face twisted in outrage and Merlin raised a hand to forestall his predictable outburst. “…in a comfortable position where I might get a raise once in ten years and don't spend all day suffering abuse and shovelling horseshit, so you can piss off!" He turned to leave. Arthur grabbed his shoulder.

"Merlin… please don't leave me." The shakiness in Arthur’s voice surprised Merlin into turning to face his shiny eyes. Arthur bowed his head for a moment, wringing his hands. "I'm a coward for using you as my punching bag. I know I take you for granted, and… I’m sorry. The truth is that I n… I don’t want you to leave. Please don’t leave."

This struck Merlin speechless, his glare now a mere mask. Arthur’s admission and the emotion behind it astonished and confused him; this whole mess threatened to drive him insane. He sighed. “Those are merely words, Arthur. It’s not enough anymore. Nothing is ever going to change – I’ll never be more than _just a servant_ to you.”

Arthur shook his head, his eyes welling now. “No. That’s not fair. How can you even…? You’ve never been that. Not from the moment I first… You’ve never been that. You _know_ that.” He bowed his head.

“There was a time I thought I did. I thought I was your friend – I thought I’d earned the right to call you that. But now…” He shrugged. “Nothing I do is right anymore, and you’ve been growing more and more angry and distant. It’s been building for months, and I have no idea why.”

Arthur raised his head and met his gaze, and unguarded, he exposed his hurt, Morgana’s and Agravaine’s betrayals, the lost and lonely boy inside him. “Are you sure you don’t?”

Merlin froze. The blood pumped in his head and he prayed Arthur couldn’t detect his fear. He was trapped in quicksand; any effort to escape would doom him, yet inaction would leave him to sink into the mire. “Arthur…”

Arthur closed his eyes and his body seemed to wilt as he sighed. “I’ve apologised. Can we just move on from this?”

Desperate to steer the conversation away from the dangerous place it had drifted, Merlin defaulted to playful banter to distract them both. “All right. I accept your apology. And I apologise too.”

Arthur ‘s eyebrows came together. “For what?”

“For the spiders I’ve been planting in your bed.”

Life returned Arthur’s eyes. “Oh, I knew it! You evil little―”

“And for what I’ve been doing to your food.”

Arthur paled. “Merlin…”

“And for―”

Arthur raised a hand. “Stop! Just stop, I don’t want to know.” Arthur stepped closer. “Merlin, I… Oh my God, Merlin, has someone been choking you? I didn’t do that, did I?” His trembling hand touched the bruise Gwaine had left on his neck.

 _Uh oh._ Merlin drew away. “Er, no. That’s… it’s just from a… an overenthusiastic hug. From a friend.” His voice trailed off as he recognised how implausible that sounded.

Arthur made a sour face. “I think you may need new friends.”

Merlin averted his gaze.

Arthur raised a tentative hand and hesitated before he placed it on Merlin’s shoulder, breaking the awkward pause. “Merlin, look, I know how I am. I can’t promise to be perfect, but I promise to try. Things will change – you have my word.”

Merlin didn’t doubt Arthur’s sincerity, but did he have it in him to break a pattern of behaviour ingrained over a decade? Only time would tell. He took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll _try_ to live with that.”

“Much like I _try_ to live with your incompetence. For example, you’re now at least an hour late with my supper...”

Merlin shook his head and chuckled. “Prat.”

Arthur opened the door but paused and turned before leaving. “I’m going to make you take a bite of every single portion, Merlin.”

Merlin smirked. “As if I don’t already _.”  
_

He waited until the outer door closed before he picked up his note, smiling. He shouldn't have milked that by letting Arthur think he was leaving him forever, but he wasn't about to feel sorry for it, either. He opened the letter. _  
_

_I’m taking two weeks off to visit my mother, and if you don’t like it, you can go fuck yourself.  
_

_Merlin_


	8. Pollination

Percival flashed a bright smile as he waved from the practice field; Merlin waved back from where he sat at the edge of the green with Gwaine, a flutter in his stomach, one part butterflies blended with a heaping cup of guilt which had crept up on him since “The Incident”. At first, he felt no need to justify going to Gwaine; he had made no promises to Percival, and he had _needs_ Percival seemed in no hurry to fulfill. But every smile, gesture, word and kindness from Percival ate away at his certainty, undermining his denial and exposing his hypocrisy.

Gwaine nudged Merlin. “He’s mad for you. You know that, right?”

Merlin shook his head. “He’ll hardly touch me before making an excuse to go running off. To ‘meet friends’ or to an ‘appointment’. I think he’s got someone else.”

Gwaine nodded, lips pursed. “Oh, I see. Is it possible you’re projecting a tad?”

Merlin sighed. “No. Maybe. But he won’t… nothing ever happens, and as you may have noticed, I’m getting a little desperate.”

Gwaine glared at him with mock-outrage. “What a relief to the _desperate_ citizens of Camelot to have Sir Gwaine on hand to serve as the scratch for their itches. Now if you’ll excuse me, a long line of fat old cat-fancying spinsters awaits me.” He made to get up and Merlin pulled him back down to the grass, laughing.

“You know it wasn’t like that. It was… incredible. The best thing since the invention of fire. Better, even.”

Gwaine smacked him in the head. “Of course it was. It was me.” Merlin guffawed and shook his head, and Gwaine grinned. “Speaking of your desperate needs, how’s the princess?”

Merlin decided to ignore the insinuation rolled into the question. He suppressed a guilty smile at the thought of Arthur’s frightful visage. Gwaine still wore a sling for his arm, and a fading black eye bruise on his cheek, but with his darker colouring and beard he appeared far less swollen than their blond and fair king. “He’s in seclusion until he thinks he’s presentable. It wouldn’t do to display before the world the evidence that one of his knights got the drop on the mighty King Arthur.”

Gwaine burst into laughter. “So why aren’t you with him? I’d think he’d want to share his misery.”

“No doubt that was his intent, but I make sure to act startled every time I look at his face and eventually he gets irritated and sends me away.”

Gwaine grinned and mussed his hair. “You make me so proud.”

Merlin grimaced and patted down his hair. They watched the knights practise for a while, but Merlin was too preoccupied to follow them. “So, Gwaine… You and Percival are good friends… Do you have any idea, well, why doesn’t he want me… um… ‘like that’? I know I’m not strong, and I can’t fight…”

Gwaine smiled. “I’ve never seen him so much as glance at another knight. Actually, I can’t remember him showing interest in anyone at all but you. Maybe he has a thing for bookish types.”

Merlin shrugged. “So what’s the problem, then?"

Gwaine turned to face him, his brow creased and more serious than usual. “You need to consider who you’re dealing with here. Tell me, how do you think Percival sees himself?”

Merlin frowned. “Very large?”

Gwaine slapped Merlin’s knee. “Come on now. What means everything to him?”

Merlin scratched at his cheek. “I assume you mean ‘knighthood’, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything. Knighthood is what he lives and breathes. And I don’t mean the rank or position – it’s the _idea_ of knighthood, and remember who taught him that idea. He wants to be the _perfect_ knight, and everything he does is forced through that filter. So he feels a sacred duty to protect everyone who needs protecting – even from himself, which means he needs to be sure ‘like that’ is what you want.”

Merlin’s threw up his arms, his voice at a high, squeaky pitch. “What I wa… I’ve been throwing myself at him for weeks. What do I need to do, send him an engraved invitation to bugger me?”

Gwaine chuckled. “Merlin, how much experience do you think he has, if any? Perhaps a little subtlety is called for.”

Merlin sighed. “But I don’t know how to do subtlety.”

Gwaine nodded. “Yes, I remember. I’ll never get the smoke smell out of the curtains.” Merlin grimaced and reddened. Gwaine got up to leave and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

***

Hazy sunlight spilled into the armoury through its small windows, illuminating the quiet and empty chamber. All the knights save one had finished disarming after practice and departed to go about their daily business. The ‘save one’ would be much delayed, if Merlin had his way.

He unbuckled Percival’s vambrace, allowing his long and delicate fingers to trail along Percival’s smooth forearm as he slid it off. Merlin grabbed the cloth draped over his shoulder and, taking Percival’s hand in his, wiped the sweat from where the vambrace had rested with slow, deliberate strokes.

Merlin stepped closer and settled Percival’s arm on his shoulder so he could get to the clasp of his spaulder, which rested on the inside of his arm. Merlin ran his hand along Percival's spectactular bicep and shut his eyes and exhaled, aroused by the bone-crushing strength under his fingers. When Merlin finished, Percival removed his arm from Merlin’s shoulder to hang at his side, tapping the skirt of his chainmail before he caught himself and arrested his hand.

Merlin smiled at Percival’s discomfort and moved closer still and bent his head to attend to the chest buckles of the spaulder – close enough for his breath to caress Percival’s neck and his hair to brush against his cheek. He pushed the spaulder off Percival’s shoulders and let his hands linger, stroking the side of his neck with a thumb. Despite Percival’s impassive face, his dilated eyes betrayed Merlin’s effect on him.

Encouraged, Merlin determined to escalate his campaign. He moistened his lips with his tongue and smiled inside as Percival’s eyes to darted to his mouth. Merlin lowered himself to one knee and laid Percival’s hand on his shoulder to help him maintain his balance, and guided his foot to rest on Merlin’s knee. Merlin unfastened his boot and tugged it off; he dipped the towel in a bucket of water and washed Percival’s foot, rubbing in slow circular motions from heel to toe. He repeated the procedure with the other foot.

He rose, and locking eyes with Percival, Merlin unbuckled the chest fastenings of his armour and his belt and helped him slide his mail off. Still maintaining eye contact, he unbuttoned Percival’s arming jacket, and Percival’s quickening breath raised the corner of Merlin’s mouth in a mischievous smile.

The jacket fell open, exposing Percival’s gleaming chest and stomach in all their sculped perfection, and Merlin’s breath hitched as he realised his self-control had no chance of outlasting Percival’s. Of course he’d seen Percival bare-chested before, but not like this – not inches away, warmed by the heat radiating off his body, not with Percival’s eyes boring into him.

Now something changed, the balance shifted. Merlin felt small, out of his league, even timid, while Percival towered over him; his stance grew more aggressive, and his eyes less nervous and more confident. Merlin found his gaze too intense, so he shifted his eyes to Percival’s hands, huge and powerful but graceful and beautiful of form. Though at rest, they exuded a tense energy, in fact his whole body did, which returned Merlin to the lamia’s castle when Percival had threatened him. Merlin sensed the desire coiled in Percival, ready to spring and devour him, and Merlin’s need overpowered him, his breathing clipped and rapid, his pulse racing, sweat soaking his tunic, and his hand trembling as he touched Percival’s burning chest over his throbbing heart.

Percival covered Merlin’s hand with his own and pulled it away, gentle but unyielding. “Merlin, I have to go – I’m getting late for an appointment.”

 _Hurkghkl._ Something snapped inside Merlin, and his eyes unfocused, causing the room to dissolve into a white blur; he stood frozen in place, his spirit severed from his body and adrift on a different plane, a plane of intense sexual frustration.

Percival slipped on his boots and scooped up his armour. He leaned in to give Merlin a peck on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” He grinned and patted Merlin’s shoulder as he stepped around him and left.

Coming back to himself, a strange impassivity settled over Merlin as he considered his options. He chose war. Well, first a lengthy session alone with his still-quivering hand. And perhaps an icewater bath. But then, definitely war.

***

From following Arthur around for ten years, Merlin had learned the first step in any battle campaign is reconnaissance – know your enemy. So that’s why Merlin found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet discharging nervous energy while he waited, hidden behind a tapestry in the hallway leading from the knights’ quarters. He’d been there for hours. Well, a great many minutes at least, it was hard to tell; he cursed himself for not bringing something to do to occupy him so he didn’t lose his mind, because waiting was not his strong suit.

The click of a door opening echoed down the hall, followed by a creak and a second click as the door shut. Quiet footsteps approached and Merlin feared the sound of the heavy pounding of his heart would give him away. When the footsteps passed, Merlin peeked around the edge of the tapestry. Percival. Merlin tapped his fingers together. _Excellent._ Tonight he would at last discover just what, exactly, could be more important than sodomizing him.

He crept after Percival, keeping well behind. Percival turned into the hall leading to the stairs to the lower levels. _What the…?”_ This didn’t make any sense… unless, yes, of course – where better for a rendezvous than an abandoned storeroom, or even the crypts? A wave of heat splashed through Merlin and he clenched his fists. _The bastard._ _Gwaine can fuck his ‘you’re projecting’ nonsense._ Here was _proof_ of Merlin’s suspicions. Well, so he expected.

Percival turned… into the library? _What on earth…?_ Merlin quickened his pace and reached the entrance, from which came the low drone of male voices, but he could get no closer without being seen. He really needed to master the far-hearing enchantment – he hadn’t managed to filter out unwanted noise, so all the spell accomplished was to amplify _all_ sound into a bewildering cacophony, and while he didn’t share Arthur’s fear of spiders, the sound of hundreds of them crawling about still creeped him out.

Instead, he rearranged some crates in a dark corner to create a hiding place with a good view of the library entrance. He had no idea how long Percival’s… _whatever_ would take, but though exhausted, his anger and determination would prevent him from falling asleep...

The click of the library door opening woke him, perhaps hours later. The door swung wide to reveal Percival with… Lord Geoffrey? Confusion sent Merlin’s sleepy brain racing. This couldn’t be what he’d thought, because there’s no way Percival and Geoffrey…

“My lord, I don’t know how to thank you.” Was Percival’s voice choked up? Percival bowed and kissed Geoffrey’s hand. “You’ve shown me things I hadn’t even imagined.”

_What._

Geoffrey blushed and gave Percival a warm and unguarded smile Merlin had never seen before. “Oh, my dear boy, you’ve kept an old man company on lonely nights; that is thanks enough.”

_The fuck._

After Percival left, Merlin sat in his crate fortress in a state of shock for some time, trying to understand how this could be happening to him. When Gwaine had said “bookish type”, Merlin hadn’t taken his words this literally! And he was desperate to keep out of his mind free of any imagery of mutual pleasuring between… He threw up a little in his mouth.

***

The high humidity had trapped the summer heat, which hadn’t much diminished as the sun set. Merlin lounged in the entrance to the tower enjoying a draught that helped him bear the sultry air, slouched against a wall, watching pink clouds drift across the darkening sky, plotting the murder of a librarian and his ‘dear boy’. A group of knights emerged from the main quarters led by Gwaine, who stopped when he spotted Merlin and waved him over. Merlin shook his head, but Gwaine steered his gaggle in Merlin’s direction, so he sighed and dragged his reluctant body off the stoop to join them. Gwaine threw an arm over his shoulders, and Merlin wrinkled his nose at his breath, already heavy with ale. “Come with us to the tavern – it’s pay day, so we’re going to get smashed, play dice and waste all our money on pretty girls. It’ll be fun.”

Merlin shrugged. “I do desperately need to get drunk, and it’s a slow night…” But he wasn’t up to seeing the ‘dear boy’ right now. “Uh… so where’s Percival?”

Caradoc rolled his eyes. “Staying behind because he’s ‘busy’ again. He never comes out anymore. I think he’s got a girl hidden in his room.”

Some of the men guffawed while others lowered their eyes. Gwaine elbowed Caradoc, but this only added to the awkwardness as Merlin’s eyes darted from face to face, trying to decipher their expressions, because he suspected they knew something. No, they knew _everything_. Their jeering laughter displayed their contempt for the pathetic little servant who pined for the king and a noble knight, their mockery pressing on him from every side. He needed to escape before he suffocated.

Gwaine grabbed for his shoulder, but Merlin stepped back out of range. “Don’t mind them Merlin, they’re thick.”

 _‘Them?’_ How was Gwaine not ‘them’? Perhaps he needed to plot a third murder. He shook his head. “Sorry guys, I’ve remembered something I have to do for the king. Maybe next time.”

Gwaine frowned at him while the men hectored and cajoled, and Merlin gave them a false laugh and waved them on before turning toward the palace and dropping the mask to reveal a grim man, his determination fuelled by the mocking laughter echoing throughout the courtyard, or being honest with himself, entirely in his mind.

He stomped to the knight’s quarters and tried Percival’s door to find it locked. He pounded. There was no response so he pounded again. “Answer the door Percival, I know you’re in there!” Soon the door cracked open and Percival poked his head out, flushed and sweaty; Merlin tried to peer around him into the room.

“This isn’t a good time, Merlin. Can I see you tomorrow?”

Merlin studied him with narrowed eyes. Repeated swallowing, blushing, biting his lip. _Guilty, guilty, guilty._ “This seems like a perfect time to me. Are you going to invite me in?”

Percival lowered his eyes. “Merlin…”

Merlin nodded, lips pressed together. “I followed you to the library yesterday.”

Percival snapped his head back up. “Oh.”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Percival’s eyes darted about, as if searching for an escape route, but he didn’t answer.

“I heard everything.”

Percival shut his eyes, bowed his head, and sighed. He swung the door wide and Merlin completely forgot what he was angry about because Percival wore nothing but shorts, his perfect, god-like, mouth-watering body coated in a sheen of perspiration; he’d never seen Percival’s legs before, as impressive as the rest of him, muscular and statuesque. A weird gurgle escaped Merlin’s throat; he clamped shut his gaping mouth and attempted (and failed) to keep his eyes on Percival’s face. _  
_

Percival stepped aside to admit Merlin. “You must think I’m a fool.”

Merlin spluttered.“How can you…? I don’t believe... Really? Geoffrey?” He clenched his fists and pushed past Percival into the room, then turned to face him.

Percival wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I did it so… well, so that you wouldn’t know that I’d never… and he was willing to teach me.”

The bile rose again in Merlin’s throat at the thought of Geoffrey ‘teaching’ Percival. “Why didn’t you come to me? We could have explored all this together!”

“Merlin…” Percival placed his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, but he slapped it away and Percival flinched. “… I was ashamed to. I didn’t want you to think I was ignorant.”

Merlin tore at his hair. “Ignorant? That’s better than what I think of you now!” Percival bowed his head, wrapped his arms around himself. “And what are you _doing_ in here, anyway?”

Percival kept his eyes on the floor. “I was practicing what I’ve learned.”

 _What the hell? Is that why he’s all sweaty?_ “Practicing…” What, did Geoffrey give him special equipment or something? He scanned the room, only to find it bare and spartan as usual. “What do you mean, ‘practicing’? How?”

Percival frowned, stood up straight, and looked Merlin in the eye for the first time since he had entered the room. “How else do you practice reading? With a book.”

 _Uh oh._ “Umm… Yes, of course, with a book.” Curse Gwaine for being right yet again. _‘Is it possible you’re projecting a tad?’ Fuck._

“What did you think I—”

Merlin smiled and clapped his hands together in doomed attempt to cover his idiotic, ridiculous, juvenile guilt-generated misunderstanding. “So how’s the reading going? Are you learning writing too?”

Percival squinted at him. “Why were you angry before, but now you’re suddenly fine with it?”

“Angry? Oh, no, not angry at all. No, no. I was merely disappointed you didn’t ask me to teach you. Could have been fun.” Merlin pulled at the damp neck of his tunic; this side of the palace faced the afternoon sun, and in this humid weather Percival’s chamber had retained the heat.

Percival raised an eyebrow, but let it go. “Well, now you know…” He stepped over to the table and sat.

Merlin came to stand behind him. “Tell me about what you’re learning.”

Percival sighed. “I felt stupid reading children’s books so now he gives me real ones, but they’re hard and I get frustrated. Some of these words…”

Merlin pointed to a parchment covered with words written in large letters, perhaps drawn slowly, like a child would, but neater, even over-neat. “What’s this?”

“I’m to write down words I don’t know and then we go over them at our lessons.” Merlin’s eyes widened at the length of the list on his parchment and Percival reddened. “It’s a hard book.”

Merlin suppressed nervous laughter at what an idiot he’d been. Percival and Geoffrey, really. Ridiculous. “Well, why don’t you read to me and I’ll help you through the rough stretches.” He rested his hand on the back of the chair and leaned over Percival’s shoulder.

“I don’t… I don’t think I can do this with you watching.”

Percival must have spent hours upon hours to get this far, and he did all this for Merlin.The thought sent a pulse of heat through Merlin and gave him an overwhelming desire to touch, no, throw himself at Percival. “Don’t let it bother you. You’ve seen me with a sword, right? Well, swords are to me what books are to you, and swords are to you what books are to me. So we’re equal.”

Percival turned his head to frown at Merlin, his forehead wrinkled. “I don’t think it really works that way, but I guess I can’t get much more embarrassed than I already am.”

He sighed, turned to the book, and put his finger on the page at the spot he’d left off. “Poll…in…ah-tee-on…no, -tion. Pollination.” He turned to Merlin. “Is that to do with pollen?”

“Yes, it’s the way flowers mate. Like when bees carry pollen from flower to flower.”

“Oh.” He continued, sounding out the words in starts and stops. “’Pollination oc-curs when pollen is trans-fer-red…transferred from the stah-men, a pen-dull-owse’… I don’t know that one.”

“Pendulous. It means ‘hanging down and swinging loosely’. _That’s…  
_

Percival gulped. “Uh, ‘pendulous… organ’. Isn’t an organ like a heart or liver?”

“Yes, but it can also mean the part of something that, um, is used in mating.” _Wait a minute here…_

“’A pendulous organ, to the hah-ihr-ee… hairy pistil.’”

“Gimmie that… What is that dirty old man having you read?” He snatched the book from the table and checked the cover. _Botany.  
_

Percival gave him a disapproving look. “Merlin, Lord Geoffrey is a gentleman and a scholar. He doesn’t have to spend all that time with me.”

Merlin snorted. “No, he sure doesn’t.” But this gave Merlin an inspiration _._ “Keep going.” He removed his hand from the seatback and placed it on Percival’s shoulder, and he smirked as the muscles under his touch tensed.

“’Self-pollination…’ I don’t get that. The bees—”

“It’s like flower masturbation.” Percival cleared his throat and wiped the sweat off his neck. “Keep going.” Merlin leaned closer as Percival read.

“’Self-pollination is ef-fec-ted in vari-ow… various...’”

“Wait, you forgot to write ‘pendulous’.” Percival stared at the page for a rather extended moment before he reached for the pen, and placing his finger by the word in the book and glancing back and forth between the it and the parchment, he wrote the word in his large letters. Merlin placed his hand over Percival’s as he finished. “Make the tail of the ‘p’ hang lower so it isn’t confused with an ‘o’.” He moved their hands together to make the correction, and grazed his fingers over the back of Percival’s hand when he let go.

“’…v-v-various ways. In the...’” Merlin traced slow circles on Percival’s shoulder. “’…In the sim-pl-est case, the stamen is close to the pistil, cov-er-ing it with pollen…’”

“Hold on – it’s hot as an oven in here.” Merlin pulled off his boots and socks, pushed up his sleeves and unlaced his tunic. He leaned close over Percival’s shoulder giving him a good view down his front. He hung his forearm over Percival’s other shoulder, and Percival shut his eyes for a moment before continuing.

“…when they are ex-poss…”

Merlin moved his mouth close to Percival’s ear and said in a breathy voice, “Exposed.”

Percival raised his head for a moment to stare at the wall, and Merlin drew a finger back and forth from below his ear and down his neck.

Percival coughed once and continued. “’In many cases the pollen is carry-ed… carried to the pistil by el-on… ga-tion…’” He glanced at Merlin, a question in his expression.

“Similar to how it sounds. It means something getting longer.”

Percival turned back to the book. “You mean stretching?”

He rested his chin on Percival’s shoulder. “Mmm.” A small spasm shook Percival. “Not quite the same. If you stretch something, it becomes longer and thinner. If something elongates, it grows longer but stays just as thick.”

Percival sat silent for several beats, his leg trembling. “Oh.” He took a hitched breath. “’…by elongation, cur-va-toor…’”

Merlin raised the corner of his mouth in an impish smile. “Curvature.” Reaching around Percival’s neck he put his fists together before his face and separated them in a curving motion. “How curved something is. Write it.”

Percival hesitated before he grabbed the pen with a shaking hand, and when he touched the quill to the parchment, he did nothing but create a spreading blot. Merlin again placed his hand over Percival’s. “Here, you need to hold the shaft closer to the tip.” Merlin moved their hands together to write the word, which ended up little more than a large and sloppy scribble. “Keep going.”

Percival attempted to still the furious bouncing of his knee with his hand. “’…curvature…’” This came out more of a choked gasp than a word. “’…or some other move-ment of the pistil. In other cases, the stalks become in-ter-twinned…” He turned to face Merlin with feverish eyes in a pained stare of desperation.

“Intertwined.” Merlin languidly licked a bit of ink off his fingertip. “When two things are wound tight around each oth—”

In a blur, the chair shot away and looming over Merlin, Percival grasped either side of the opening of his tunic and in one yank tore it apart.

Breathless with excitement, Merlin shrugged out of the remnants of his shirt. Percival’s eyes burned with long-suppressed desire, dilated and shining, and his intensity scared Merlin into backing away when Percival advanced.

Percival pulled Merlin’s body flush with his own and secured him in place with an arm thrown around his lower back and a hand fisted in his hair, the tug sending a thrilling jolt through him. Percival’s burning and gleaming skin flooded him with warmth as Merlin pressed tight against him, savouring his heat, the slide of skin upon skin, being engulfed in all that muscle and growing dizzy and weak-kneed submerged in Percival’s clean-sweat scent. Merlin angled his head to kiss him but he had trouble reaching so he climbed up on Percival’s feet to gain a couple of inches, making them both smile into their kiss, which soon bloomed deep and passionate.

Percival appeared to be content to stay like this forever but Merlin wanted more; his frustration mounted and he squirmed with desire, wanting to move against Percival’s body, but Percival held him helpless in his firm grip, which only magnified Merlin’s need.

Merlin drew his head away. “Percival, I want to see all of you. Please.”

Percival nodded and took a slow and clumsy step toward the bed with his feet still supporting Merlin’s, then another; they both laughed at the silliness, giddy with building anticipation. Still several feet from the bed, Percival picked Merlin up and tossed him the remaining distance like a rag doll; the unnerving sensation of being hurled backward through the air electrified him and he raced to shed his trousers as Percival climbed onto the bed after him.

Merlin dragged a willing Percival on top of him, wrapped his legs around his middle and slid his body in rhythm against Percival’s. The long wait for them to get to this point, the weight of Percival’s heavy body pushing the air out of Merlin’s lungs, the press of his ridged and rock-hard stomach against Merlin’s length… It all proved too much, and he felt the rising tension he couldn’t and wouldn’t stop and eyes squeezed shut, with a grunt through clenched teeth, he came in fevered waves and with a few final tremors, melted boneless. Percival gaped at him wide-eyed.

Merlin slapped a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Argh, so embarrassing.” How long had he lasted? Twenty seconds? Ten?

Percival sat up on his knees astride him and smiled with dark and shining eyes. “It’s all right, we’ve got plenty of time.” He glanced down at his body, then used his index finger to wipe Merlin’s come off his stomach; he raised it to his mouth and gave it an experimental lick, then sucked in his whole finger, hungry and wanton. Merlin watched enrapt.

Percival withdrew his finger and traced a line from under Merlin’s chin and down his Adam’s apple, and Merlin closed his eyes as another tremor ran through his body. He forgot his earlier embarrassment; the combination of the desire written across Percival’s face and the arousal already building again in his own body in response assured him he was up for as many repeat performances as events warranted. He reached to unfasten Percival’s bulging trousers, but Percival grabbed his hands, making Merlin frown and growl. Percival shook his head. “Not yet. Just let me make this about you for a while, alright?”

“But Percival, I want to…”

Percival quieted him with a kiss. “I need longer, and I want to finish with you.”

Who was Merlin to argue with that? “Well in that case, have at it.” He folded his hands behind his head and laid back against the pillow smiling; sex was _so_ much better with another person involved.

Percival stretched himself out to lay flat and slid down Merlin’s body to lick him clean with languid care, causing Merlin to twitch and grab at Percival’s head. Percival chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Ticklish are you? I’ll keep that in mind.”

“ _Don’t_ you dare.” Merlin mock glared and Percival grinned at him before continuing to work over his body with his hands, his lips, tongue, even teeth, taking his time to give reverent attention to every inch of Merlin and soon Percival had him thrumming like a harp, aflame and ready, clawing at Percival’s shoulders and back. And he still hadn’t seen all of Percival. “Come on, Percival, lose the kit.” Percival hesitated. “Percival, this is what I want. It’s all I think of. I’m starting to get friction burns fantasising about it so much. If you’re worried about being inexperienced, I am too – we’ll figure this all out together. All right?”

Percival nodded.

“Now let’s see that ‘pendulous organ’.”

Percival gave him a shy smile in response and dragged himself up to lay beside Merlin, unfastened his shorts and pulled them down and off his body.

As Merlin had expected, he was big. Very big. But it’s one thing to _expect_ , and another to _see_. “ _Oh my God_ ,” he exclaimed, loud enough to make Percival flinch.

He flushed. “Why does everyone always say that?”

“Why do you think?”

Percival peered down. “It’s in proportion to the rest of me…”

“Yes, that’s the problem.” Percival gave him a stricken frown, so Merlin rushed to add, “Not so much a problem as a question of where that’s supposed to fit.”

Percival flushed even deeper. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Never mind, we’ll worry about that later.” He pulled Percival back on top of him, pawing at his perfect, rounded, iron arse, and this time he managed to last at least a minute.

The third time, however, he managed respectable endurance by employing the dead puppies/naked Gaius trick. When he could hold on no longer, he begged, “Are you close?” Percival nodded. “Alright then, I’m ready to go.”

He gripped Percival tighter with his legs as they kissed, urgent and deep, and he moaned at the wonderful friction of his length sliding beside Percival’s, pressed between their stomachs. Percival rolled over onto his back, pulling Merlin with him and squeezed him so tight he couldn’t breathe; Merlin’s entire body tensed, his toes curled and he called out “God! Percival!” in a strangled voice as he came with a blinding intensity. Percival joined him moments later in a bone-crushing series of spasms, and Merlin went limp, hanging over Percival like a blanket.

Afterwards they lay side-by-side, enjoying lazy kisses between grinning like loons at each other. Merlin shook his head. “You realise we could have been doing this all along, right?”

Percival smiled and kissed him. “It was worth the wait for me.”

“Hmm.” Then recalling what started all this, Merlin gave Percival a sheepish smile. “Did you really learn to read just for me?”

Percival nodded with adorable gravity. “You’re so smart and learned, and I didn’t think you’d want to be with an ignorant peasant.”

Merlin smirked, shaking his head. “Oh, Percival. You really needn’t have worried. I don’t want you for your _mind_ , I want you for your _body_.” Percival’s face went blank and he rolled away. Merlin grabbed Percival’s shoulder, but he shook him off. “Come on, it was just a joke. Please don’t be mad.” Merlin cursed himself for blowing this already with such insensitive teasing! _Idiot!_

Merlin clambered over Percival to face him – to be met by a victorious smirk. It was a trap! He grabbed Merlin’s wrists. “What was that I was supposed to keep in my puny ignorant peasant mind? Oh, that’s right.” Even clutching Merlin’s wrists, Percival could still manoeuver his hands with ease to poke his index fingers into Merlin’s side.

“Augh! No no no no no! Stop! You’re the smartest knight there is! I worship at the altar of your erudition!”

Percival stopped and frowned. “I actually know that word. Lord Geoffrey uses it a lot.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. _Imagine my surprise._ “Speaking of learning, shall we answer the question of where _that…_ ” He nodded down Percival’s body. “…is supposed to fit?”

Merlin couldn’t ride a horse for days, but it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Botany text is edited down from a lucky find, an excerpt from the 1911 Britannica, and yes, it is that crammed with innuendo.


	9. Birthday

Arthur sat at his desk waiting for Merlin to arrive (late, as usual) and prepare him for bed, balancing his teetering chair on its rear legs and grabbing the edge of his desk to steady himself whenever he tottered. He’d been at this for some time now, too preoccupied with his plan of attack to concentrate on his paperwork. At last, Merlin’s footsteps approached his door; he slammed his chair down on all fours, grabbed his quill and pretended to read some report or other before him. Merlin entered (without knocking, as usual), took a few strides but halted when Arthur failed to acknowledge him. Arthur swallowed a smile, able without looking to picture Merlin narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Arthur continued to affect not to notice him as he approached the desk.

Merlin cleared his throat melodramatically, and Arthur glanced up at his annoyed manservant. “Ah, Merlin, good, you’re here.” Merlin rolled his eyes and Arthur pretended not to notice. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Arthur rose, moved to the front of his desk and leaned his weight against it, crossing his legs at the ankles.

Merlin tensed, growing alert. Right now he’d be wondering why Arthur would _announce_ he had something to talk about rather than just saying what he had to say, likely doing a mental inventory to try to determine what he was in trouble for. “Um, all right. What do you want to talk about?”

“I’ve spoken to the steward, and I’m adding a servant to my staff who will be assigned a number of your current duties—”

Merlin’s face dropped into what Arthur recognised as his ‘What did I do to deserve this life?’ expression. “You’re sacking me?”

“No, Merlin, I’m not sacking you. Did you hear me? I’m transferring some of your duties—”

“Are you dissatisfied with my work?”

“Entirely, but that’s not what this—”

Merlin’s tone grew anxious, even jealous _._ “Who? Who is it?”

Arthur took care to show no sign of irritation at Merlin’s many interruptions. “I don’t believe a candidate has been identified as yet, but I’m sure there will be plenty of applicants.”

Merlin threw his arms up, sputtering. “That’s a terrible idea! You can’t just… just have just anyone coming in here willy-nilly and having their run of the place!”

Arthur smirked at Merlin’s possessiveness. He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Why not? Because! Because…”

Arthur raised his eyebrows and made a rolling forward motion with his hand. “Because…?”

“Because it’s dangerous, that’s why!”

This was turning out to be even better than he expected. Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, Merlin. I’ve been trained to kill since birth, you know. What could a _servant_ hope to do to me?”

“What could a…? They could lace your wine with a sleeping draught, then smother you with a pillow, smuggle your body out of your chambers in a laundry cart and dump it into the caverns below the castle to be gnawed beyond recognition by rodents!” As he spoke, Merlin illustrated the scheme with gestures. Arthur stood staring at him, arms crossed, while Merlin blithely continued to share his comically treasonous and obviously pre-conceived scenarios. “Or when they were shaving you they could replace the shaving oil with a highly corrosive acid, or just take the blade and…” He made a throat-cutting gesture.

Arthur made a mental note to shave himself from now on, then blinked and shook his head. “If you don’t have any more disturbingly detailed scenarios you’d like to share…”

“Well, they could lace all your tunics with a slow-acting—”

“Merlin…” Arthur giggled inside, but pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut as if weary of the exchange.

“Oh, wait, here’s one – they could worm their way into your good graces while serving as a vessel for the vengeful spirit of an immortal sorcerer who—"

“Merlin, if we could get on with this…”

Merlin sat his hands on his hips, glaring. “Of course, sire. I believe you were sacking me.”

Arthur had forgotten about Cedric/Sigan. _Good one._ But it was time now for the coup de grâce. Arthur sighed. “No, I was telling you that I’m transferring some of your more menial duties…” He raised a hand to cut off Merlin’s objection. “…so that you’ll have more time to help me with mine.”

Merlin jerked his head back, caught by surprise, but only for an instant; without missing a beat, he tilted his head as if confused. “But you don’t really _do_ anything, do you?”

Impressive – Merlin had managed a last-minute upset. Well, no matter, Arthur had other means to even the score. “Right, that’s it.” He advanced on Merlin wearing his best predatory expression.

***

Leon rubbed his tired eyes at the end of another long day, worn out by the extra load of administrative work. Not that he didn’t appreciate the confidence the king placed in him, but with Arthur’s schedule packed by audiences postponed during his ‘seclusion’, Leon got stuck with all the dirty work. Only one more task stood between him and his fine down mattress, Arthur’s approval of the petition from the Guild of Fishmongers for a larger ice allotment…

As he approached Arthur’s door, a crash and sounds of a struggle came from within. He grabbed for his sword, preparing to charge in to defend his king – but then Arthur shouted, “Oh my _God_ you are freakishly strong. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to…”

“Ahhh! No, Arthur, not that… Argh ah, no! Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! No! Stop!”

“Do you have anything you’d like to say, _Merlin_?”

“Ow! I give I give I give!”

“ _Say_ it, Merlin.”

“Fine, you prat! Ow! Alright! ‘Arthur Pendragon is the hardest-working king in Albion…’ Ow! ‘…and his munificence is renowned throughout the known…’ Ow! Stop it! I’m saying it, you ass!”

Leon smiled and shook his head as he walked away. _Poor Gwen._

***

After forcing Merlin to extol his virtues for five minutes or so, Arthur let him go and returned to his desk. Merlin huffed, straightened his tunic, and attempted to look outraged, although his shining eyes betrayed how much he enjoyed it when Arthur manhandled him. “Will you be needing any help to get into bed?”

Arthur kept his eyes on his papers, smiling inside. “No, I’ll be up for another hour ‘not really doing anything.’”

“Will there be anything else, then?” Arthur admired Merlin’s ability to phrase a simple question with immaculate respect, down to his body language, yet stuff it with impatience, contempt and victimhood. 

“Yes, one more thing, Merlin.” Holding his face blank, Arthur rose from his desk and handed Merlin a small scroll. “Happy Birthday.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Arthur. I don’t have a birthday. Nobody records these things in little villages.”

“Just read the scroll.” It continued to amaze Arthur how the idiot could never make things easy and simply do as he was told – and to be honest he hoped that would never change.

Merlin sighed, grabbed the scroll, unrolled it and read:

“’His Royal Majesty Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, does hereby decree that today, and every subsequent anniversary of this day, shall heretofore be the birthday of Merlin the manservant, son of Hunith, of Ealdor. This decree shall be registered by the Secretary of State and recorded in the Office of the Royal Census. Signed, Arthur.’”

“Hence my ‘Happy Birthday’.” While Merlin concentrated on the document, Arthur was free to savour Merlin’s transition from poorly disguised curiosity into bored disappointment.

Merlin gave the scroll a dubious look. “This is my birthday present?”

Arthur nodded straight-faced. “Yes. Happy Birthday.”

“For my birthday, you gave me a birthday.”

“Yes.”

Merlin squinted at the document. “This is George’s handwriting.”

“Merlin…”

“And shouldn’t that be ‘henceforth’ instead of ‘heretofore’?”

“Merlin!”

“Well never mind, this _is_ the best thing ever. Much better than a day off or a special supper.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, enjoying this far too much. “Are you finished?”

Now on a roll, Merlin placed a hand over his heart. “No. My job satisfaction having soared to new heights, I must dash off to wash your undergarments in the tears of my joy.”

That one stretched Arthur’s self-control and he pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Moving on to the next phase, Arthur let loose the self-satisfied smirk he’d been holding in.

Merlin set his jaw, glaring sideways at Arthur. “You’ve another gift, don’t you.”

Arthur nodded with exaggerated gravity and pulled out a second, larger scroll, and handed it toward Merlin, who reached for it but hesitated. Arthur inclined his head, eyebrows raised, smug as can be, and Merlin, scowling, seized the scroll from him and unfurled it, exposing a diplomatic document, written in Lord Geoffrey’s magisterial court script:

“’Be it resolved by His Royal Majesty Lot, King of blah blah blah blah King Arthur of Camelot blah blah blah that upon receipt of the consideration specified in Annex I of the present treaty blah blah his Majesty King Lot does irrevocably and permanently quit all claim and sovereign right over the village of Ealdor and environs and does transfer the same to the crown of Camelot…’” Merlin stood speechless for once, mouth agape, his eyes darting about the scroll _._ “Arthur, what… how… I don’t under…?  Did you…?”

When Merlin grasped what all this meant, his face brightened in the joyous, uninhibited, reverent and adoring smile Arthur had been waiting for, the smile that was for him alone, which had lit the way through his darkest hours and gave Arthur confidence he could accomplish anything.

“Oh, I can’t believe you did this! Arthur! This is amazing! Ha ha! Now when I visit my mother I never even have to leave…”

Arthur counted down, _5… 4… 3… 2…_

Merlin’s forehead creased as his smile faded. “… _your_ _dominion_ …” He clenched his jaw _._ “So that’s what this is about, is it?  Oh, no, you’re not satisfied to order me about for my every waking moment. You just had to put me even _more_ under your thumb, even when I’ve time off…" A realisation hit him, and with a sharp intake of breath Merlin covered his mouth and pointed at Arthur. "Oh! You… this is about when I threatened to leave! You went and made sure to close off that option for good. Now I can’t even go home to my own village if you _exile_ me and I and everyone I know are forever subject to your every…”

He trailed off when he realised Arthur had no reaction but to stare at him, expressionless. “Shit.”

Arthur handed him a third scroll. Merlin unrolled it with unnecessary violence. This one was written in Arthur’s own hand.

“’I, King Arthur, in recognition of heroic service rendered to the Crown on several occasions, decree that the village of Ealdor and environs shall be chartered irrevocably and in perpetuity as an independent and self-governing commune under the sovereign protection of the Crown of Camelot, and which shall be exempt from all dues and obligations during times of peace. Ealdor is further specifically designated a safe haven for Merlin should I ever exile him. Signed, Arthur.’”

Arthur stared, impassive but for a raised eyebrow.

Merlin let the hand holding the scroll fall to his side. “You planned all along for it to play out like this, didn’t you. So I’d make myself look like an ungrateful, hysterical girl.”

“You have to be able to anticipate the opposition when you're king.” Arthur rather impressed himself by maintaining his straight face.

Merlin shook his head, his irritation at being played falling away until he broke out laughing and hurled himself at Arthur to engulf him in a tight embrace. Arthur stiffened for an instant, caught off guard, as Merlin had never hugged him like this before. Heart racing, he wanted to return it, but a lifetime of denying and being denied such affection was not so easy to overcome – and then it was too late.

Merlin drew away. “Sorry, I know you hate that.”

Arthur buried any thoughts about how wrong Merlin was and instead pompously declared, “I decree it permissible, retroactively, on this one occasion.”

Merlin shook his head, smiling, his eyes soft and fond. “You’re such a royal prat! Arthur, this is the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

Arthur frowned. “Merlin, this is the _only_ birthday present you’ve ever received.”

Merlin shrugged. “Well I guess you’ve set the bar high for next year, then, haven’t you?"


	10. Captured

Arthur halted them when they entered the forest, out of the visual range of even the highest tower of Camelot. He pulled a small sack from his saddlebag. “Right, let’s chose our route then.” He rustled around in the sack, drew out a slip of parchment and read it, nodding in satisfaction.

Arthur devised this scheme to forestall any possible ambush; no one, not even Arthur, knew which of six routes he would pull from the sack. A traitor would not be able to pre-arrange an attack, nor block every path to Kerry, which would require too many men to go unnoticed, and with only Arthur and Merlin, plus two guardsmen selected by lot, their party would be faster than any enemy force.

Despite these precautions and with Arthur warded against scrying, Merlin couldn’t shake his apprehension. Every time Arthur had strayed much beyond the environs of Camelot in the last few months, an ambush had followed. And, with ceremonial duties ahead, Arthur had brought Excalibur, and this alone made Merlin nervous – the thought of this powerful weapon falling into the wrong hands…

Arthur pulled alongside and gave him a playful shove. “Oh come on, Merlin, lighten up. The weather’s holding, we’ve taken every precaution, and we can depend on a fine feast tonight.” Arthur grinned. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Merlin slapped his hand to his forehead. “You just _had_ to say that, didn’t you.”

Arthur laughed and mussed his hair, but Merlin scowled, unable to find anything funny in the situation.

A few hours later, they stopped for a rest and Arthur and the men enjoyed a snack. Merlin couldn’t eat, his stomach tied in knots. An hour or so into the journey he had developed a vague sense of being watched and the awareness had grown so strong since then that he felt as if someone were standing right next to him, glaring – and now the unmistakable tingle of magic in the air raised the hairs on his arms and neck.

Arthur threw an almond at his head. “For pity’s sake, Merlin, what’s got into you? You’re more skittish than a doe with a nervous disorder.”

Merlin turned to face him. “Someone’s watching us.”

Arthur studied his face for a moment, and whatever he found made him steel his features and turn to the men to make a series of hand gestures which looked to Merlin like “poke me in the eye, then take the octopus for a walk,” but the men somehow to understood him. Arthur gestured for Merlin to stay put as all three rose, their bodies tensed and ready, drew their swords, split up and crept into the surrounding trees. Merlin’s heartbeat raced and he imagined the enemy in the rustle of every leaf; in a few minutes he feared he’d lose his mind and had determined to go after Arthur when all three men returned, their postures relaxed.

Arthur shrugged. “Nobody in sight, no tracks. Now would you just relax? You’re starting to make _me_ edgy.” He gave Merlin a playful whack on the back of the head and sat down to finish eating.

Merlin ignored him and shut his eyes, and taking deep, steady breaths did his best to calm himself and concentrate on anomalies in the natural flow of magic, no easy task with Arthur so close – like finding a candle flame in a bonfire.

But soon he detected it – like a faint ray of light striking him, from a little bit to the right…

***

Angharad frowned, puzzled at the behaviour of the servant; he’d grown increasingly agitated and sulky, occasionally speaking to a nothingness which must be a shielded Pendragon. And now he’d dropped into a meditative state – she didn’t know what to make of it. Well, in minutes he’d be dead and…

The servant's eyes snapped open and he turned his head to glare _straight at her_. She flinched and gasped as her perspective dragged toward him as if caught by invisible hands.

 _Who are you? What do you want?_ The shattering voice boomed in Angharad’s mind; she struggled to free herself as the servant’s power crashed towards her through the connection. The water in her scrying bowl began to boil and she pressed her trembling fists to her head gasping for air and fighting for the words and strength to sever the link. “ _Ic gefégednes ásyndrede!”_ With a bright flash and a shower of sparks her scrying bowl exploded, and she screamed and shielded her face as hot water splashed over her, burning her where it touched skin.

Angharad shut her eyes to control her shaking and steady her breath. She turned around. “Did you see it?” Morgana said nothing, hands clenched at her sides, staring into an invisible distance – with welling eyes? “Morgana?”

Without answering, Morgana turned and marched out of the chamber.

***

Merlin jerked and bumped Arthur’s arm causing him to spill water down his face from his water skin. He turned, scowling. “Merlin, what on _earth_ is wrong with you?”

Merlin shook his head, lips pressed together. How could he have been so stupid? So careless? How simple it had been for them to use Merlin to track Arthur and yet he’d never considered this obvious tactic. And whoever that had been watching him, if she… no, there was no ‘if’. He shut his eyes and exhaled the breath he’d been holding. _Morgana knows._ He was now living on borrowed time. _  
_

He opened his eyes to Arthur gaping at him with an ugly twist to his mouth, his familiar ‘Did your mother drop you on your head as a baby?’ expression. They had no time left – the tingle of magic had swelled into a wave crashing toward them. “We need to get out of here right now! Arthur, we’ve got to get back to Camelot!”

Arthur flinched and blinked. “What are you talking about? We’re not going back to Camelot, we’re more than halfway to Kerry.”

Words of power reached Merlin from within the forest but the others showed no sign of having heard. A rivulet of sweat crept down his spine and he pulled his hair, teeth gritted. “Arthur, please! Would you just listen to me for once? We’ve got to—”

Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, his eyes wide and incredulous. “Merlin! Get a grip on yourself! Where is this coming fr—”

Two darts of light shot from the trees and the guardsmen grunted as they were hurled back to crumple lifeless to the ground, their chests smoking at the impact points. A man emerged from the trees, hand extended and golden glow fading from his eyes, flanked by perhaps ten warriors. Arthur drew his sword and pushed Merlin behind him – but even he could see the situation was hopeless. “Let my servant go, and I’ll surrender myself to you.”

Merlin crumpled inside. Everything he’d worked so hard for… all for nothing. How many times had he protected Arthur _and_ his own secret, from fearsome monsters to immortal armies, and yet here he was, undone by some random sorcerer. And how much crueler the blow that Arthur’s last act as his friend would be to protect him with his life.

The sorcerer smiled. “I would gladly accept, if I had any interest in your surrender.” He raised his hand at Arthur and Merlin let his power flow through him as he prepared to strike…

The wind was knocked out of him as Arthur shoved him to the ground and charged the sorcerer. “Arthur! No!”

Merlin scrambled to get a clear line of sight to the sorcerer but he’d never make it in time. “ _Flygepíl!”_ Another fatal dart of magic flew at Arthur, and helpless to prevent it, Merlin’s chest twisred, forcing the shards of his heart into his throat.

But with well-honed reflexes and unwitting master of a magical sword, Arthur parried the bolt, sending it ricocheting to blast one of the soldiers. The sorcerer’s eyes zoomed wide and his surprise resolved into a bared-teeth growl. _“Líget ástríc!”_  Lightning shot from his hand at Arthur, only to be drawn to Excalibur, arcing between sword and sorcerer as Arthur closed the distance and swung, and the sorcerer had no time to register fear before his head flew from his shoulders.

 _Oh my God._ Merlin’s mouth fell open and his hand flew to his throat as the sorcerer’s spewing corpse collapsed to the ground. He scrambled to rise to his feet but a kick to his ribs from behind sent him sprawling; a sword poked at his throat, a thin trickle of blood already running down his neck. Arthur swung around, and assessing Merlin’s plight and the crossbows aimed at him, raised his hands in surrender. The man who appeared to be their captain approached Arthur, sword in hand.

While the situation remained grim, without the sorcerer to worry about, the playing field had completely changed. No one can be compelled to do something inimical to his nature; kill himself, put himself in danger, or take an action contrary to his character – but nudging him down a reasonable path was something quite different. Merlin muttered a spell under his breath, “ _Híere mín bisena!”_ He reached for the captain’s mind. _Take the prisoners to Morgana._

The captain pointed his blade at Arthur’s neck. “Drop the sword!” Arthur plunged Excalibur into the ground, cursing to himself. The leader gestured to the others. “Bind them. We’ll take them to the Lady Morgana.”

A man with an ugly scar running down his face scowled. “Nah, just off ‘em! Those are our orders…”

_Take the prisoners to Morgana. She’ll reward whoever brings Arthur to her._

The captain rounded on Scar, his voice firm. “And give up our reward? Don’t be daft. Now tie them.”

The men moved to obey, one of them digging through the packs for rope. The skinniest of them eyed Excalibur. “That’s a right pretty blade there – bet it’d fetch a king’s ransom. Too bad he can’t pay one right now. Har!”

He grabbed the hilt and tugged – it didn’t budge. Arthur flinched and his eyes narrowed.

A short but broad man shoved Slim aside. “You little girl! Can’t even pull a – hurgh!” The sword didn’t budge for him, either. He tugged at the hilt with all his strength until his face coloured red. Now Arthur’s eyes widened and he shot a heated glance at Merlin, who looked away, stomach rolling.

The captain shook his head at this and strode over to try himself; he nudged Shorty aside and pulled, but his attempt also proved fruitless. “Strange. I don’t like this – something funny about this thing.”

_Morgana will also pay a reward for the sword. Have the prisoner draw and sheathe it.  
_

“You!” He pointed at Arthur. “Take your cursed blade and sheath it, then hand it over. And don’t try anything, or your man there is dead.”

Arthur gripped the hilt and drew the sword out of the ground as if from butter. He wiped the blade as best he could on his trousers and replaced it in its sheath. He glanced again at Merlin with lifeless eyes before he turned away and bowed his head.

***

Merlin sat back-to-back with Arthur with their hands tied behind them; their attempts to untie each other’s binds had proved fruitless and Merlin’s fingers had grown too sore for him to keep trying. They had stopped for a noon rest-break in a small clearing, much appreciated by Merlin’s aching back and shoulders after being dragged around behind a horse all morning.

Time was not on their side. Merlin was juggling a lot of magic – keeping them hidden from scrying eyes, influencing Captain, and maintaining a glamour which prevented their captors from remembering Excalibur. He could keep it up, but the enchantments dispersed his attention and tired him, and they would stand out to anyone with magic. Plus, the longer they headed east toward enemy territory, the greater the chance they’d be discovered. Morgana must have sent parties to search for them; she may even come find them herself now that he’d blocked her from locating them through magical means.

Since their capture yesterday, Arthur had been pointing out to Merlin the strengths and weaknesses of each of their captors, somehow evaluating their combat ability by watching them move about. He considered Red the most capable, big and muscular with the alertness and bearing of an experienced soldier. Merlin, on the other hand, worried most about Scar, itching to murder them, perhaps only to boast of killing a king.

He needed to find a way to whittle down the odds then use the cover of night to make their escape. The falling bough trick wouldn’t get past Arthur, not with him at such a high state of alertness. He couldn’t think of any non-obvious way to use magic; he didn’t possess a tactical mind like Arthur’s…

A flash of movement at the edge of the clearing caught his eye; an enterprising squirrel had braved the human presence to come and evaluate the chances of acquiring food – and not a moment too soon. Merlin waved the squirrel over; it approached in cautious scurries of movement and darted into his lap when it reached him. Merlin bent his head close to mutter a spell – “ _Ábidde híere mé!_ The squirrel perked up, ready for action, and Merlin whispered, “Go get help!” With a twitch of its nose, his furry little agent scampered away into the woods.

“What on earth are you doing?” Merlin jumped at Arthur’s scolding hiss. “Are you trying to add plague to our problems? How many times have I told you not to play with wild animals? One of these days you’re going to get bit, and you’ll get no sympathy from me.”

Merlin snorted, glad Arthur’s spirits remained high enough to berate him.

***

Rowe muttered in irritation wondering why _he_ had to do this as he pushed his way through the foliage. He hadn’t signed up to go chasing after every noise that alarmed their idiot leader, yet here he was, following something rustling through the undergrowth, probably an animal attracted to their food.

He broke into a small glade and the noise stopped. In fact an eerie silence had fallen over his surroundings, and unsettled, he hunched to lower his profile and continued with slow, cautious steps. A chitter to his left made his heart skip a beat and he whipped around to face the source. A squirrel sat on the limb of a tree, waving its tail at him, taunting him. He shook his head. Bad enough he had to spend all day with that band of louts dragging around two endlessly bickering prisoners, and now he’d been sent on a wild chase to be mocked by a _rodent._   “Fucking tree rats…” He snatched up a rock and tossed it at the squirrel, but the nimble little creature darted out of the way well ahead of the stone. He heard another chitter behind him – and another. _What the…  
_

He spun around to find at least a hundred squirrels, some sitting up, others on all fours, just _staring_ at him. Rowe scratched his head, mystified. _That’s kind of creepy.  
_

He didn’t even have time to scream.

***

Arthur shivered as a cool gust of the approaching autumn grazed his skin, grateful for Merlin’s warmth at his back. They’d stripped him of his armour upon their capture, down to the old and worn tunic he wore underneath; tearing branches and constant manhandling by their captors had reduced it to rags. It provided no protection from the elements and would inhibit him in a fight by snagging or giving an opponent something to grab and hold, so he’d ditched it.

Their captain had taken them on a bizarre and convoluted course to the east – he was either an idiot, or deliberately prolonging their journey. He didn’t seem a shining light of intellect, but not especially dull – so why not take a direct route? Security? Speed would be the best protection. Also, like last night, their boots were taken to inhibit escape, yet the enemy had been inexplicably careless tonight by leaving their legs untied.

Arthur kept at least part of his attention at all times on the location and activity of each of their captors, waiting for an opportunity. Captain, Shorty, Slim and Baldie sat around the fire, Chip a few feet off, sitting on a pack and whittling, and Red missing in action, having wandered off to investigate a noise hours ago and never returned. A stroke of good luck, as he looked to be by far the most formidable fighter. The wild card was Scar – a maniac, that one – big, cruel and unpredictable, liable to kill them just for the fun of it. If he could only get his hands free... He and Merlin had tried everything, but these crude brutes knew how to tie their knots.

He’d chance a run for it if he were alone, but tied like this there’s no way he could protect Merlin. If he even _needed_ protection. No, he wouldn’t let himself think like that. It wasn’t Merlin. It couldn’t be. He’d tried to warn Arthur – and why hadn’t he listened? Merlin was always right about these things. But how did he always know? And why were they still alive? The sorcerer had intended to kill them – or him at least – he was sure of it. Was this a farce for Merlin’s… no, not Merlin. Merlin wouldn’t betray him. And the sword… that was not a normal sword – it protected him, he should be dead – he didn’t even feel that lightning. And Merlin brought him to it. Always Merlin.

Scar was coming. Arthur pushed aside all other thoughts, alert to the danger – one wrong move and they were dead. Scar grabbed Arthur by the hair and yanked his head back. _Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction._ “And how fares his royal majesty this fine evening?” Scar slapped his face numerous times, not too hard, only meant to humiliate. “Hmm? Nothing to say? Well, you are a flinty one, aren’t you?” Scar turned to Merlin _._ “But awful protective of the pretty one here… someone special, yeah?” Arthur’s heart sank – he should have cried out, made Scar happy; now Merlin would pay for Arthur’s pride.

“What’s this? The cuisine not to your taste?”

Arthur had tried to get Merlin to eat to keep up his strength, but he’d been unable to down the disgusting porridge they were given. Merlin gasped as Scar grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to a kneeling position. In a blur Arthur rolled onto his knees and launched to his feet, but Scar shoved him away and Chip and Shorty tackled him, and holding him fast, wrenched his bound hands high behind him until he had no choice but to drop back to his knees to avoid damage to his arms and shoulders.

“But it must be a right pain to eat with your hands tied. Here, let me help you.” He plunged Merlin’s face into the bowl. Merlin struggled for a moment, but had no chance and must have realised it, so he stilled to preserve energy as Arthur had taught him. The men laughed as Scar held his head in the bowl, but Arthur paid no attention to them, counting the seconds. A panic began to build as he reached sixty, and he prayed Merlin had got a good breath before he went in.

He scrubbed the anger from his voice. “Let him go. Please let him go.” Scar smirked. _Ninety-seven…_ “Please, leave him be – do anything you want to me.”

Scar grinned. “But you see, I _am_ doing anything I want to you.”

 _Two minutes._ Merlin couldn’t last much longer; the trembling of his body felt like a fist crushing Arthur’s heart. “Please, no, I beg you! Please!” He struggled with manic energy, but with his hands tied and held by two men he was helpless.

 _Two minute thirty seconds._ Soon Merlin started to spasm as his oxygen-starved body approached failure and Arthur screamed, aloud or in his head, he couldn’t say, and his whole life since Merlin flashed before his eyes. _Three minutes._

Captain sighed. “Come on, Rolf.”

Scar pulled Merlin’s head out of the bowl. With his face plastered with porridge Arthur couldn’t tell if he… Merlin took a deep gasping breath and Arthur collapsed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, suppressed a cry of joy and relief.

Merlin met his eyes – while red, they still held a fierce determination Arthur recognised all too well.

Scar tore off Merlin’s neckerchief. “But look, you’ve got some on your face.” He wet the cloth with his water skin and pulled Merlin back to his knees. “Let me help you with that.” He wiped Merlin with odd thoroughness, and Arthur’s heart thrashed in his head. “Oh dear, it looks like you’ve even got a bit up your nose.” He clamped the cloth over Merlin’s face and it began again.

Something in Arthur snapped, and the noble character that he’d worked so hard to build crumbled; away fell honour, justice, compassion, and mercy, the very qualities that had long held in check a dark and savage aspect of his nature which now burst free. He was going to kill them all. Make them suffer.

Merlin was weaker this time, he wouldn’t last long. Not much over a minute and his body’s convulsing signalled the approaching end. Captain raised his voice. “Come on, Rolf, he might be worth a reward too.”

“Good point.” Scar released the cloth, and Merlin again gulped huge breaths, his body trembling after having been pushed so close to the edge. “Can’t damage the goods.” He grabbed Merlin’s ring finger. “But then again, on the road you can’t avoid some breakage…” He broke the finger with an audible snap. Merlin jerked and exhaled a quiet grunt, and Arthur jolted as if it had been his own break. “Ho, we’ve a tough one here!” He snapped Merlin’s middle finger. Merlin jerked again and his eyes watered from the pain, but still he didn’t cry out. Scar broke his other ring finger.

Now something changed. The men grew silent, riveted. None of them could endure what Merlin had without crying out - not even close - and they all knew it. Instead, Merlin glared at their captors with defiance, and Arthur could taste their fear – it fed him, gave him strength.

They had terrorised Merlin to make Arthur suffer. For that, they were dead. All of them, dead. Rage and madness fuelled that one thought; nothing else remained. _Dead dead dead_. He would watch the light go out of the eyes of every one of these animals as he crushed their bones with his bare hands.


	11. Massacre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic violence.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut to stop the world spinning, but this only replaced the spinning with a sensation of falling in the dark. He needed to think about escape plans, but his throbbing head floated in a haze; ideas flitted past and away, just out of focus, remaining blurry and unreal like everything else after what had happened. Only Scar remained in crystal clarity. Whenever Scar moved, Merlin’s breath seized as if choking until he lost control and gasped, thrashing against his bonds, causing him stabbing pain as he jostled his fingers, but he didn’t, wouldn’t cry out – he had to be brave for Arthur.

Weakened by his ordeal, even a gentle breeze sent a violent shiver through his body; he leant against Arthur’s back for warmth but his master recoiled as if Merlin’s touch burnt him. A lump formed in Merlin’s throat as this fierce rejection added to his fears about Arthur’s mental state.

When they’d sat Merlin back down, he’d caught a glimpse of Arthur’s eyes – their strange, wild glint sent something inside Merlin clawing in alarm. Arthur hadn’t said a word, wouldn’t respond to his name, he showed no signs of awareness, made no move to free them, didn’t even check on Merlin’s condition; he radiated a palpable tension, primal and deadly, like a wild animal poised to pounce and rip the throat out of its prey.

Merlin shook himself; he had to get a grip, had to pull himself together and put aside his trauma and pain – Arthur needed him and Merlin wouldn’t let him down. He shut his eyes, took deep breaths, unleashed his magic and let the energy flow through him, surge into every corner of his being. The power burned off the haze and stilled his shivering, and reminded him he could call lightning from the heavens, shake whole cities to rubble, command dragons – and compared to this, Scar was a _gnat_ who couldn’t harm him unless Merlin let him, and he wouldn’t, ever again.

He opened his eyes and scanned the campsite. Five of the men stood surrounding the fire engaged in tense conversation – perhaps deciding the fate of their prisoners, and Shorty sat a few feet away from the group, digging through a bag. The trees would be a problem in a fight, blocking his line of sight, but Merlin thought he could take Slim without magic, maybe even Chip…

 _Hang on…_ Chip had been whittling earlier, but he no longer held the knife; Merlin searched until he spotted it atop a pack. _Perfect._ He muttered a spell under his breath, and the knife faded away and re-materialised in his hand. He tapped Arthur’s wrist with the flat of the blade, hoping Arthur had the presence of mind to understand what this meant, but not enough to question where Merlin got the knife. Arthur flinched, but stretched his hands as far apart as the rope would allow, giving Merlin some space to work.

His broken fingers prevented him from applying much force with the knife as he sawed at the rope for what seemed hours, careful to avoid cutting Arthur, enduring the starbursts of pain whenever a broken finger jostled, resting when his hand ached too much to continue. As he worked, Merlin could feel Arthur’s rage and frustration boil and build like a tangible force until his body vibrated with coiled tension. Merlin’s throat closed up as his own frustration, pain and exhaustion threatened to drive him to despair; how long until someone checked on them, or Arthur tried something with his hands still tied?

He needn’t have worried; with a powerful flex of muscle, Arthur broke the weakened rope and sprang.

***

“Arthur, wait!” _No chance._ _Only a second of surprise to use._

Launch a flying kick into Baldie’s back, hurling him into Slim. Captain jumps aside to avoid the tumbling men.

Spin and jab elbow into Chip’s jaw. Spit and blood flying. Three down.

Duck Scar’s slow punch. Fist hard into his soft middle, right hook to his face. Scar’s head hits the ground with a crack. _I’ll get back to you._

Captain ten feet to the right. _Always take out the leader first_.

Lunge, slam him against a tree by the throat. Fist flying. Crunch. Something gives. Blood pouring from his nose, light goes out in his eyes. Corpse still twitching as it falls. _  
_

Dodge the dagger slashing at his side. Grab Shorty’s wrist, slam it against the tree. _Goodbye dagger_. _Now for Shorty._ Twist him round, wrench his arm high behind his back. Sweet screams, bones crack and ligaments tear. Knee to face, elbow to back – sprawl him over Captain. Stomp on his neck. _No..._ Again. _Not quite..._ And again. Crunch. _There we go._ The body spasms. _  
_

_ _Who’s next?_   
_

Baldie staggers to his feet, grabs the spit by the fire, charges with a cry. Side-step, grab his head, use his momentum, throw him atop Shorty. Seize the spit. _That’ll do nicely._ Draw it across Baldie’s throat, shove foot hard into his back, yank the spit back with full strength. Crack! Toss the spit aside.

Chip trying to crawl off. Smirk. _As if you could get away._ Jump on his ankle, crush it. Crouch astride him. Break his arm over the knee. Then the other. His howling is music. Drag him by his hair towards the pile. He’s screaming and sobbing, “No! No! Please!” _Yes! Yes!_ Pin him to the pile, knee to his back, grab his jaw and the back of his head. Hold steady, relish his terrified crying and begging _._ Lean in, nuzzle his neck. The savory smell of fear. A violent twist. Snap!

Slim frozen, shaking his head, mewling, legs unable to work. _Only two left – make it last._ Stand astride him, drag him to his feet by the throat. Slim tugs and claws at his wrist. _No chance._ Smirk. _So weak._ _Could strangle two of these at once._ Over to the growing pile, drape him over it.  _That’s right, look at their dead, staring eyes._ Blubbering like a child. Squeezing his throat, blood pulsing beneath his fingers. Whisper in Slim’s ear, stroke his hair, “Shhh. Shhh. It’ll all be over soon.” Kiss him, petting him still – so beautiful like this. A hand in Slim’s gasping mouth beside his protruding tongue, grip his upper jaw; dig his other hand in to grab the lower jaw. Pull slowly. Primal wailing. Pull further, spread the jaws. Gurgling screams. Splintering and popping. Blood from the mouth, eyes and ears. _A work of art._ A final yank, a loud crunch. Jaw gives way, teeth loose in his hands. A bubbling whine as the body writhes.

He turns, smiles. _Been looking forward to this._ Scar, sword drawn and advancing, cautious and afraid. Snarl and pounce on him. Swings blade, a wide, clumsy arc. _Never going to touch me._ Dodge, close in, grab his wrist and wrench it. Seize his sword, throw it away. Twist his arm behind him, kick his legs out. A grunt as he falls face down.

Straddle him, grip his wrist and pin the other with a knee _._ Grab Scar’s index finger. _Merlin’s delicate fingers fasten his tunic_. Snap the finger. Screaming. _Ink stains the margin of Merlin’s fingernail as he writes._ Snap _._ _Merlin’s knuckles whiten as he pours wine._ Snap. _Merlin brushes lint off Arthur’s shoulder with a dainty flick._ Snap. _Arthur hums as Merlin massages soap into his hair._ Snap. Now the other hand. Lovely screams. No more fingers.

 _Now the fun part_. Roll him over, wrap hands around his throat. Ghost a gentle thumb over his Adam’s apple ‘til he’s crying and begging for his life. Squeeze. He struggles, legs kicking, bucking – riding him. _Ninety-seven seconds_. Tighten grip further, press fingers into the flesh of the throat. _Two minutes._ Shut eyes and exhale, a shiver of pleasure. So good, his favourite way to kill. _Two minutes thirty seconds._ Loves his powerful, trained body, so superior he needed only seconds to exterminate these vermin, and they hadn’t landed a single blow on him. _Three minutes_. Scar purple, convulsing, eyes bulging and tongue lolling to his chin, making a squeaky croaking sound. Blood singing, never felt so alive. He stares into Scar’s eyes and it’s rapture as he extinguishes their light, the power of life and death embodied in his strong hands. _Four minutes._ The smell of urine. Scar’s struggling slows, ceases. Final spasms.

Rise, bellow in triumph.

***

A deafening stillness settled over the camp, broken only by the deep, soft hissing of the fire, the wood crackling and snapping like fingers, and by Merlin’s heart, drumming in harmony with the blood pulsing in his head.

The slaughter had been over so fast that Merlin had only been able to gape, cringing, and insides rolling at the horror of it. He had seen Arthur kill many men, but never like this; never with his hands, never revelling in carnage with such brutality and malice. 

Gone was his noble king, in his place this feral murderer, his body coated in a sheen of sweat and spattered with gore, knuckles bloody; the flickering firelight both accentuated the strong planes of his body and gave him a sinister cast. Arthur turned to face him; Merlin’s heart quavered and a hot shiver raced through him, afraid, terrified of Arthur, paralysed, spinning in an overwhelming haze of emotions, thoughts and images.

Arthur approached like a great cat stalking its prey, fists clenching and unclenching, teeth bared, his silent footsteps thundering in Merlin’s head with the sound of cracking bones and strangled breaths. Still bound and on his knees and with Arthur towering astride him, Merlin peered up at his master with fear, submission, and unguarded desire; he glanced at those strong, deadly hands that had disposed of six men with such ease, and he both craved and dreaded their touch, whatever they might do to him.

Arthur reached for his throat; Merlin flinched, turned his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, trembling with silent sobs. _No! No! Please! Shhh. It’ll all be over soon._ Merlin’s tunic tightened about him as Arthur fisted his hand in the fabric and his eyes shot open as Arthur pulled him to his feet. Merlin bowed his head, unable to bear the intensity of Arthur’s gaze, burning with an alien, primal brilliance; yet he leaned closer as if drawn to Arthur by an invisible cord.

Arthur thrust his free hand behind Merlin's head to grab him by the hair, holding him in place, the tug sending a sensual thrill through him. Their bodies throbbed mere inches apart, only their bare feet touching. Merlin ran his toes over Arthur's in an uncontrolled impulse born of need, craving his lord’s touch; the contact and the gasp it produced in Arthur made him tingle and he dragged his eyes up to meet Arthur’s…

Lightning-quick, Arthur spun him around and pinned him against a tree with his body, and Merlin grunted as the air whooshed from his lungs at the sudden contact. Trembling, with a headlong rush of burning need coursing through him, Merlin arched his head over Arthur’s shoulder, offering himself completely. Arthur spread a hand over his throat, grabbing but not squeezing, pressed his cheek to the side of Merlin’s head, breath blowing through gritted teeth across his ear and Merlin melted against him, panting. _Is this really going to happen?_ He savoured the play of rippling chest and stomach muscles pressing into his back as Arthur’s breath heaved, his sweat and smell soaking into Merlin’s tunic. This is what he wanted. What he’d dreamed of, yearned for in his fevered fantasies – to surrender his whole being, to have Arthur claim him, take possession of what was his by right. _“Arthur…”_

Just as Merlin thought he’d lose his last threads of sanity, Arthur pulled away, grabbed his wrists, pried the dagger from his clenched fist, sliced through his bonds and cast the knife aside. He turned Merlin around to face him, grasping him by the shoulders. Violent need blazed in Arthur’s eyes; but he shut them tight and slowed his breathing, and Merlin stood scared and confused, wanting to reach out and touch him, to restore the charged link between them that he sensed slipping away. When Arthur opened his eyes, the fire had gone. His breath hitched and he averted is gaze, lowered his arms and stepped back, leaving a cold, barren distance that stabbed like a knife in Merlin’s chest.

“Sit down – I’ll find something to splint your hands. There’s a cave we can shelter in a half-hour’s ride from here – I think I can find it in the moonlight.”

Nodding, Merlin collapsed to his knees again, shaking, exhausted and shattered, unable to provide a more coherent reply.

Something from the pile twitched, made a noise. Arthur sighed and returned to his grisly handiwork with heavy footsteps; he bent and reached for Slim. Merlin couldn’t see what Arthur did with his hands, but Slim’s body jerked and went still, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at his chest.

***

Arthur rigged the entrance of the cave to provide warning if anyone entered and spread their sleeping mats side by side; they lay down for the night without having exchanged a word since the camp.

In truth, Arthur couldn’t speak to or even look at Merlin; the thought of facing him made Arthur’s skin crawl and the nausea and bitter tang in his mouth threatened to rise and choke him. He hated Merlin. Hated him for his silence, hated him for not attacking him, screaming at him, accusing him – ‘Why wouldn’t you listen? Why didn’t you protect me?’ He hated Merlin for his faith and loyalty, so undeserved, hated Merlin for making him lose control, hated Merlin for making him weak.

Merlin’s stuttered breaths twisted a knife in Arthur’s chest and he couldn’t help but turn his head. Merlin lay on his side facing away from Arthur, his body curled up and wrapped tight in his blanket, shivering in the chill that had crept into the cave – no, shaking, surely ravaged by the pain and trauma he’d suffered for Arthur with such fortitude.

Merlin sniffled, just once, and Arthur hated Merlin for melting his heart with one tiny breath and robbing him of his righteous self-loathing.

Arthur sighed, breaking the silence. “Merlin, come here.”

Merlin turned his head toward Arthur but darkness obscured his features. Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist and pulled him flush against his body, back to front, and drew his blanket over them. Merlin settled against him and stilled, and in moments, his breathing grew regular and deep. So trusting… if he had seen the savage darkness in Arthur that had wanted to _take_ him, crush the life out of him so no one would ever touch him again and defile what was Arthur’s…

With a thickness in his throat, Arthur pulled Merlin in tighter and, fading into a dead sleep, tucked his face into the nape of Merlin’s neck.

Arthur hated Merlin for making him weak.

***

“Merlin, come eat your breakfast! You’ll be late again!”

Merlin smiled at Gaius’ daily admonition and ran down the stairs from his room; famished, he sat down with glee to tuck in. He frowned into the bowl at the strange bubbling of his porridge and poked it with his spoon. The goo sprang from the bowl onto his face and pushed into his mouth and nostrils.

Merlin woke with a gasp. The events of the previous night came crashing back to him, churning his stomach and pressing upon his chest. Merlin had shifted onto his back in his sleep while Arthur remained on his side, but in addition to the arm around him, he’d curled a leg over Merlin’s, pinning them as if to say ‘Mine!’

Asleep, Arthur appeared so peaceful and contented; gone was the mad, sneering executioner of last night. His boyish, innocent face contrasted with his muscular body and delectable hairy chest; at once powerful and vulnerable, both his protector and his charge – and Merlin thought his heart would burst with his hopeless and oppressive love for this complicated man. Merlin stroked the hair at his temple, and unable to resist anymore, bent to touch his lips to Arthur’s in a gentle kiss, just this one time.

***

They sat at the cave entrance having a cold breakfast, unwilling to risk a fire. They ate in silence – Arthur wouldn’t even look at him. The tension and distance since last night, made all the worse by contrast with the tantalising intimacy they woke to that morning, broke Merlin’s heart.

Merlin studied Arthur’s face with careful glances, but his stone-blank face gave no clue as to his mental state. What lurked beneath that mask? Anger? Shame? What had driven Arthur’s murderous rage? Merlin’s torture? Or had being made to watch, helpless, driven him to madness? And afterwards – he hadn’t imagined it; Arthur had nearly… Was he merely reclaiming his property? Had he been carried by the heat of the moment, the thrill of victory? What did all this mean about their relationship? The knot of rejection, relief, hurt, and confusion building in his chest threatened to explode in a howl of frustration.

Would they ever move past this? He had to try – at this point he had nothing to lose and a night’s sleep had brought him back to himself enough to use the tactic that always seemed to work…

“Arthur…”

Arthur froze, staring into his bowl.

“You… _terrified_ me last night.”

Arthur’s head shot up, his eyes feverish with betrayal, that Merlin would make him talk about this.

Merlin shook his head, lips pressed together. “I woke in a panic thinking a bear had come into the cave, you snore so loud.”

Arthur slumped, and Merlin read relief and gratitude in the slow smile building on his face. “I do _not_ snore.” Merlin rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but Arthur cut him off. “Shut up, Merlin.” He nodded at Merlin’s swollen fingers. “Your hands?”

Merlin shrugged. "Not too bad. Gaius’ll set them properly when we get back and they’ll be good as new.”

Arthur sat silent, staring at his clasped hands. “Merlin, last night, the way you… No knight could have endured what you did, and never so bravely. And the way you stared them down… you made them fear you. I'm…” He met Merlin’s gaze. “I’m incredibly proud of you.”

Merlin’s eyes welled and he bowed his head, his voice a murmur. “I didn't want to let you down.”

Arthur grasped his shoulder. “You never have.”

A wave of heat flushed through Merlin’s body, and feeling ten feet tall, he hid his face-splitting smile in his bowl as he ate the last of his breakfast.

Arthur ruffled his hair. “Come on, let’s get you home.”


	12. Disappointments

Arthur smiled, drowsy and pliant as Merlin stroked his temple with his entrancing fingers. Arthur loved travelling for cold nights and mornings, when he had an excuse to find a cave to huddle in for warmth with his favourite manservant. Today, however, Merlin pushed his affections to a new level; he leaned in, brushed his lips against Arthur’s… “God, Merlin…”

Merlin clubbed him over the head. Stars danced before Arthur’s eyes, brief numbness giving way to throbbing pain. “Ow…” Why was one side of his face so cold? Wait… he appeared to have his face pressed to the cold ground. He turned to face Merlin and banged his head on… his bed? The familiar sights and smells of the castle brought him back to himself. He sighed. It had been only a dream… and he’d fallen out of bed. He massaged the bump on his forehead and turned over, squinting and shielding his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window of his room… Strange, someone had moved the window. No, that made no sense… this couldn’t be his room. So where… _Uh oh._ He pulled himself up beside the bed, girding himself for an unpleasant conversation. _  
_

“I’ve always accepted I’d have to share your heart with him, but I’d hoped at least your body would be mine alone.” Tears welled in Gwen’s cold, hard eyes.

 _Think fast._ “Darling, my heart will always be solely y…”

“Don’t, Arthur. We both know that’s not true. A part of you will always belong to him. And how can I begrudge him that? It was he who made you into a man I could love and a king I could be proud of.”

Arthur blinked, taken aback. “Well, I think that might be a _slight_ exagg…”

She scoffed. “Don’t kid yourself, Arthur. Do you want the truth? Before he came I _loathed_ you. Everyone did. You were an obnoxious, spoiled bully…”

“’Obnoxious’ seems to be a rather harsh characteris…”

“Shut up, Arthur. He found a good man underneath all the arrogance and entitlement, and only he had the faith and patience to draw him out. Do you know why everyone loves him? Because he saved us from the king we were all resigned to endure once your father was gone.”

 _Low blow_. “Gwen, you’re upset, I understand. Let’s just talk ab…”

“Don’t patronise me!” She shook her head, her voice tired, the fight in her spent. “Get out Arthur. Just get out.” She pointed to the door.

Arthur reached for her, but she pulled away and refused to meet his eyes. Well, if she didn’t want him here, he would leave. He wasn’t going to beg – he had already been rather conciliatory, given her unreasonable attitude. He straightened his nightshirt, advanced to the door, seized the handle…

“And in case you were wondering, he’s a better kisser than you.”

Arthur paused, gobsmacked; that last comment sent a flurry of tangled emotions flying through his head he couldn’t even begin to unravel. He swung open the door.

“And so is Morgana.”

Well _that_ was just unnecessary, and an image he’d have to spend the rest of his life scrubbing from his brain.

***

The brightening morning light woke Merlin; he ran his hands over the forearm draped over his chest. Smooth, not hairy – a reliable disappointment. He flipped his body to face Percival, who was already awake and gazing at him expressionless, although Merlin thought he detected something sad in his eyes. He sighed. “I’m sorry about last night, Percival.” _And so many nights before that…_ “You’re disappointed.”

Percival shook his head, took Merlin’s hand and ran his fingers with care over his splints. “I’m fine – you’ve been through a lot. We’ve all the time in the world.”

Always so patient, so understanding. _So guilt-inducing_. Merlin smiled. “I like waking like this, though.”

Percival smiled – well, more a tightening of his lips than a smile.

Merlin yawned and stretched. “Well, off to the salt mines…” He got up and kissed Percival on the forehead, getting no reaction. Merlin’s chest tightened; leaving like this seemed so sad, so final. He glanced at Percival’s body as he reclined with casual confidence and unselfconscious beauty, so massive, strong and perfect, yet so gentle and unthreatening. He hoped his lack of physical response to these qualities was an aftereffect of his ordeal, soon to pass, but deep down he knew it was these qualities that were part of the problem.

***

Merlin sat at Arthur’s table, failing to focus on the array of state papers before him. He stole another glance at Arthur, who’d spent all morning slumping at his desk fiddling with a letter opener, whirling it between his fingers with expert skill while staring off into space, frowning.

According to the castle gossip mill, Gwen threw Arthur out of her rooms that morning, and Merlin hated the part of himself that took a hopeful satisfaction from this news. But how could he not? The events of that terrible night had blurred in his memory, reduced to a vivid nightmare – but he would never forget the hunger in Arthur’s eyes, Arthur’s breath hissing over his ear; and etched in his mind with heart-stopping clarity, waking in Arthur’s arms, still caked with the blood of the men he had slaughtered for Merlin.

Yes, he liked waking in Percival’s arms, but whereas Percival felt like safety and comfort, Arthur’s embrace said “mine or nobody’s”, and Arthur’s possessive fury stirred Merlin on a primal level. So what did any of this mean? What was Merlin to Arthur? Did he dream of waking with Merlin in his arms?

Startled by a knock at the door, Merlin leapt to answer it. No emotion graced Gwen’s face but a bland and artificial haughtiness; she didn’t so much as glance at Merlin as she entered. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Merlin.”

Arthur must have well pissed her off – she usually responded to her husband’s failings with condescending indulgence and never took out her frustrations on Merlin. Arthur jumped up from his chair, wearing a contrite “oh shit, I forgot our anniversary” grimace. “Guinevere.” Merlin noted Arthur’s formality.

“May I speak to you? Alone?”

“Sire. My lady.” Merlin bowed and left, and her rudeness toward him more than justified listening at the door, and he affixed his ear the moment it shut.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

“You were a bit unfair.”

“I didn’t mean any of those things I said. I was just caught by surprise.”

“I can’t help what I dream, Guinevere. You shouldn’t feel threatened by that.” Merlin frowned. She threw Arthur out for a dream? About what?

“And I don’t. Can we just put this behind us?”

“Of course. And I’m sorry too. Come.” A rapid clatter of heels. “I love you, Guinevere, never doubt that.”

“And I you, with all my heart.”

Silence.

What a ridiculous fantasy he’d allowed himself – as if Arthur would ever even consider leaving Gwen, or could ever love Merlin as he loved her. Now approaching thirty, Merlin had officially wasted his youth, sailed clear through it without ever knowing what it is to love and be loved. He crept away with a hollow chest, tired, lonely, and pathetic.

***

Percival leant against his windowsill with moths in his stomach waiting for Merlin, both eager for and dreading his arrival. He shut his eyes, pictured in his mind Merlin’s broad smile – the smile that even in his memory killed Percival, made his chest tighten with a suffocating longing, more beautiful and painful than anything else he could imagine.

He hadn’t seen that smile for weeks now, and for weeks they’d had nothing but chaste contact. He wanted to believe Merlin merely needed space to recover from his ordeal, that this would pass, but he feared Merlin had tired of him, as he had expected from the very beginning.

Merlin’s distinctive knock sounded, a series of raps followed by a gap and a final knock like a full stop. Percival sighed, lumbered over to answer the door. Merlin entered, slumped, his eyes dull and misty. “Hi.”

Percival pushed the door shut. “Hi.” He bent to kiss Merlin, and got a peck on the lips before Merlin turned his head aside and buried his face in Percival’s neck.

His voice choked and hitching, Merlin wrapped his arms tight around Percival. “Will you please just hold me tonight?”

The sliver of happiness it gave Percival that Merlin had come to him for love and support could not begin to banish the aching numbness that swelled in Percival’s chest as he resigned himself to his distant second place in Merlin’s heart. He sighed as he engulfed Merlin in his arms to give him the solace he needed. Powerless against the dictates of his own heart, Percival would take what he could get.

***

A chill breeze whistled a hymn down the stairwell to celebrate the early death of summer, while the sun, already low in the sky, cast blinding streams of golden light through the few window slits of the soaring stair tower. Leon huffed up the steps, lamenting the passing of his youthful energy, despairing of reaching the top, a longer climb than he remembered.

He emerged through the roof hatch to find the king sat huddled by the battlements, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking his tense body, so much like the sad boy Leon had found here a lifetime ago.

Arthur stilled and sighed, but kept his eyes on the horizon. “How do you even know about this place?”

“Impossible to forget, after an all-day search and the threat of a lashing.”

Arthur turned to frown at him.

“When you were thirteen and having nightmares? You hid here from your father.”

Arthur’s face relaxed. “I’d forgotten that.” He returned his gaze to the far distance; Leon smiled at the memory and leant against the battlement, crossing his legs at the ankles.

After a long silence, Arthur shut his eyes. “I have to send him away.”

Leon had no need to ask the identity of ‘him’. “He’d never leave you.”

Arthur sighed. “I can’t afford this weakness.”

If there had ever been a statement more fraught with meaning… “Oh?”

“They struck at me through him. I can’t protect him all the time.”

Leon snorted. “I don’t think he’s as helpless as you suggest.”

Arthur hesitated, grinding his teeth. “But _I_ am. They… tortured him to get at me – made me watch, helpless, and I… I lost control.”

“In what way?”

Arthur met his gaze with bloodshot and shining eyes, his voice not much more than a hoarse whisper. “In every way.” He turned away again, leading to another long period of silence. “I can’t… I don’t know what to do.”

Leon’s heart went out to Arthur, whose few attempts to break free of his father’s brutal conditioning had led him to trust the wrong people so many times. Still, it was so frustrating he wouldn’t let in the one person who had so perfectly demonstrated his devotion and loyalty, and who had no conceivable hidden agenda behind his love. “Only you can decide that.”

Arthur turned on him scowling and with fire in his eyes. “Stop being sage and tell me what you _think_.”

Leon’s stomach tensed and he flushed, stuck between his desire to help and his own conditioning for obedience – a problem Merlin didn’t have and yet another way in which the king needed him. “Arthur…”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he furrowed his brow and shook his head, his nasty streak no doubt activated by frustration and hurt at the distance implied by Leon’s reluctance. “’Permission to speak freely sire?’ Oh, why certainly, Leon, please, grace us with your wisdom.”

“You want to know what I think? I think you’re twice the man you were before he came into your life, and both you and the kingdom are all the stronger for it. You fear leaning on him because your father taught you that trust and caring are weakness. He was wrong – trust and caring don’t come from weakness, they come from strength. In truth, you are the luckiest king in Albion to have someone like him at your side, and pushing him away would be a monumental display of cowardice and stupidity.”

Arthur stared, agape and wide eyed, for long enough to make Leon fear the consequences of his overstep. Arthur blinked and shook his head. “Now tell me what you _really_ think.”

Leon barked a laugh, relieved.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Also, I think ‘twice the man’ might be a bit of an exaggeration.”

Leon smirked. “All right, _half again_ the man.”

Arthur shook his head and punched him in the shoulder, and Leon took it for the ‘thank you’ it was.

***

Merlin snapped awake from his nap at the sound of Arthur’s voice. What had brought him here? He’d told Merlin to go rest…

“If you’re looking for Merlin, sire, I can go rouse him.”

“No, let him rest, Gaius. I came to see you.” Merlin frowned, wondering what Arthur needed Gaius for that he hadn’t told Merlin about. He rose from bed and listened at the door.

“Is anything troubling you, sire?”

“Do you want the whole list, or just the top ten?”

Gaius chuckled. “Perhaps we can start with the troubles I can assist you with.”

Arthur sighed. “The traitor. I’ve left Camelot all of three times in the last few months, and each time I’ve been ambushed by Morgana’s forces. I’ve wracked my brains, considered every angle, and I’ve concluded that there is only one possible traitor, and that’s Merlin.”

Merlin’s heart stopped. _How can Arthur think… after all this time…_ He was trapped – how could he get out of here? He cursed himself for not learning a spell to transport himself elsewhere like that whirlwindy thing Morgause did. Maybe he could turn into a bird and fly to safety…

“Surely, sire, you don’t suspect…”

“Of course not. My point is that there _is_ no traitor.”

Merlin let out a breath of exasperated relief. _Couldn’t you have led with that, you great tosspot?_

“There are magical means of spying, are there not? It’s not only the ambushes against me – Morgana’s forces always seem to know where to hit to do the most damage with the least opposition. No one traitor, or even several, could help her achieve that.”

“There are many such ways, sire, but I’m afraid there is little we can do about it.” Merlin huffed to himself. _Little that I’m not already doing._

“Well, that leads me to my next point. In all three ambushes, the enemy had a sorcerer. In the first, the sorcerer simply disappeared. In the second, something happened – some powerful force struck the enemy. In the third, there was no one thing, but many small and unlikely blessings that made our survival possible. And if we were found by magic, why were we unmolested after our escape when we were exhausted and weak?

“Then I thought back to when I confronted Morgana and Helios in the council chamber. She said ‘Not even Emrys can save you now,’ and then her magic failed her.”

Merlin’s head shook of its own volition as a deathly chill ran through him. The walls seemed to close in on him and the air grew heavy in his chest to choke him.

“So who is this ‘Emrys’, and why does Morgana fear him? Or her?”

“I can’t begin to guess what lurks in the mind of a madwoman, Arthur.”

Arthur paused before replying, and Merlin imagined he could hear Arthur pulling his thoughts together to phrase them in a way most likely to lead to answers. “You once told me that there were many people of different beliefs trying to protect me, and Emrys sounds like a Druid name. Was it the Druids you meant?”

“I cannot say.”

Arthur’s tone drew harder, yet Merlin detected the tinge of resignation. “You mean you _will_ not say.” Gaius remained silent. “I’m so tired, Gaius. Tired of secrets, tired of stumbling in the dark… If I ordered you to tell me, would you?” Still no answer from Gaius. “I don’t know what to believe anymore – who to believe in. So many divided loyalties...”

“My first loyalty will always be to you, as it was to your father before you; there is nothing I would not do to prevent harm coming to you – I ask you to trust me in this and ask no more.”

“I suppose I don’t really have a choice, do I?” The fatigue and dejection in Arthur’s voice gave Merlin a lump in his throat.

Neither spoke after this and moments later, Arthur departed with heavy footsteps. Merlin emerged from his room and Gaius turned to him, his eyes welling; Merlin went to him and embraced him, loathing himself for never having stopped to consider the heavy price Gaius paid for Merlin’s lies.

***

Gwen paused at the laughter coming from an open chamber and she smiled when she recognised the voices – May and Addie. Gwen had been especially fond of May from her serving days. She hadn’t spoken to them in ages, and as she was running early for her meeting with the castellan, she thought she’d stop for a chat.

“… the poor queen.” Gwen stopped short outside the door.

“You mean Lady I-do-not-use-contractions-anymore-because-that-is-what-I-think-it-is-to-be-queen?”

Addie cackled. “You’re wicked. And I thought you were friends.”

“Well, we were, until she started putting on airs…”

“Well she _is_ the queen, you know. Isn’t putting on airs her job?”

May hummed. “You’re too young to remember Queen Ygraine. Now _there_ was someone who knew what it is to be a queen. She was the envy of all Albion, so beautiful, so kind and noble, and yet there was no distance between her and the people. Those were happy days, full of festivals and balls, all presided over by our bright queen… the whole kingdom mourned for years when she passed…”

“Well, at least we know Gwen’s from healthy stock – she’s no fragile flower to die in childbirth…”

May tutted. “But four years now and no heir.” She lowered her voice. “They say she’s barren – cursed by the spirit of Uther to stop her watering the Pendragon blood…”

“Such a shame, it is. The king needs a son, not a bed warmer.”

“And if it’s only keeping warm at night he needs, all of Camelot knows it wouldn’t be the queen he’d be bedding…”

Gwen wiped away her tears, one hand dropping unconsciously to shield her belly as she turned to escape their cruel laughter.

***

Exhausted, Merlin yawned, stretching his aching back, his whole body sore from sitting too long at a desk writing reports and running around delivering messages, he could use a bath and something to fill his empty stomach, and his head ached too… Well, Percival would soon take care of that, and cuddle up with him, and listen to Merlin complain about his day, and be funny, sweet, handsome, and of course ‘safe and comfortable’. He sighed and knocked.

Percival answered right away and poked his head out the door. “Hello.” He looked mischievous, and wore a tunic, which he never did at night in his chambers – it made his arms even more irresistible.

“Hello,” Merlin replied, suspicion narrowing his eyes.

“Are you tired?” Merlin nodded. “Sore?” Merlin nodded. “Headache?” Nod. “Hungry?” Nod. “Not so fresh?” Merlin sniffed his armpit then nodded.

“Well, then, come in.”

He opened the door wide and stepped aside to admit Merlin. The illumination from the fire and carefully placed candles created a soft and comforting atmosphere; a steaming tub in the middle of the room diffused the smell of aromatic herbs and all his favourite foods sat waiting for him on the table.

Merlin gaped. This must have taken Percival hours of effort, and he had anticipated Merlin’s every need, but this only twisted the stabbing guilt deeper. This was the man to whom he couldn’t completely open his heart, held captive as it was by someone whose closest approximation to this beautiful gesture would be to slosh the contents of a jug at his face then bean him in the head with a chunk of ham.

“It’s perfect.” He turned to embrace Percival and bury his face in his chest. His stomach growled like an angry dog.

“Food first, then?”

Merlin nodded with a smile.

After he gorged himself like he hadn’t in months, Percival refreshed the bath with water heated in the fireplace and took his time to undress Merlin. Nobody had ever done that to him; it felt strange, but sensual, and he had an encouraging twinge of excitement standing vulnerable and naked in front of Percival.

For the next few hours he slipped in and out of consciousness as Percival bathed him, trailing his fingers over Merlin’s skin as he scrubbed every inch of his body with a cloth, and took him to bed to massage every muscle and joint he had, giving extra care to his hands, now fully healed but for some soreness, until Merlin thrummed with pleasure.

The shift of the mattress as Percival lay beside him roused him from his blissful torpor. He raised his heavy eyelids to find Percival’s face inches away, his eyes hopeful. Percival had played this to perfection – he’d asserted his control and reduced Merlin to pliant putty and could take whatever he wanted. Merlin closed the distance and kissed him. Percival rolled atop him; his touch, his lips against Merlin’s, and along his neck, and being pinned helpless by his massive body gave Merlin a welcome arousal. Percival raised himself above Merlin on his arms, and his liquid eyes, so large and beautiful, darkened and burning, made Merlin’s heart flutter, and Merlin smiled, bright and adoring.

Percival brushed Merlin’s cheek with his thumb. “I love you.”

 _Hurkghkl_ _._ “Oh... That's... nice, thank you.” Percival’s body stiffened, his face went blank. _Oh shit. Shit._ Percival rose off him and went to put on his boots. “Wait, Percival, I’m sorry, I was just surprised and…”

Percival, cold and expressionless, raised his hand to stop him; he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “You need to decide – will you wait forever for what you can’t have, or will you take what’s right in front of you? Either way, don’t expect me to wait much longer, because I deserve better than this.”

Merlin clutched at his arms, rendered speechless and hollow inside as Percival walked out.

***

Gwaine spotted Merlin sitting on the edge of the moat near the practice field, tossing a stone into the air and catching it, until he fumbled and it disappeared into the water with a splash. Merlin watched the ripples for a moment and sighed. Gwaine rolled his eyes, wishing he had problems like Merlin’s. What a burden to have both a king and the kindest, most handso… second most handsome man in the world in love with him. Although come to think of it, Gwaine had the same sort of problem almost nonstop, except it was usually four or five women, and none of them were royalty or particularly kind…

Gwaine sat next to him and nudged him. “Alright, so what have you done to my poor Percival?”

Merlin buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 _That would make you the only person in Camelot who doesn’t._ “I think you do.” Merlin spun his head to face him. “Merlin, a man like Percival is a rare treasure – do you really want to cast him aside like this?”

Merlin’s face crumpled. “I know. I _want_ to want this, but…”

“But what? He’s everything anyone could ever hope for! He’s perfect! He…”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it? He’s _perfect._ It’s not like being with a person, it’s like living in a story for little girls – he’s all rainbows and unicorns. I might as well be with a puppy – it’d be a lot simpler.”

“Remind me to lock the kennels.”

Merlin shoved him. “Shut up. I do truly like him, Gwaine, I do. I like spending time with him, I like waking up in his arms. I’m just not sure I can give him what he wants from me. I think that’s why I can’t… I think I feel guilty, so I just can’t…”

Gwaine certainly understood _that._ He usually got that way after the first night. “You can’t string him along, Merlin. You’re using him and it’s not fair.”

Merlin nodded. “I know.”


	13. Miscalculations

“You must be patient, Morgana.”

Alvarr winced. In his experience, those were the words least likely to have the desired effect on their temperamental mistress.

Morgana rounded on Ifor with a sneer. “You always say that.”

Ifor nodded, ever sage and calm. “All comes to those who wait.”

Morgana rolled her eyes and marched past him. “But _faster_ to those who take, and I’ve waited long enough already. I don’t know why we don’t just expose the little worm to Arthur and let _him_ take care of the problem for us.”

Ifor stroked his short grey beard. “We can’t be sure Arthur doesn’t already know, and if he does, he may be forced to acknowledge Merlin, which would weaken our claim to be the champions of the old ways – especially if you’re right about his link to Emrys.”

Morgana shook her head and snorted. “All this time, there has been sorcery at the heart of Camelot. To think Uther gave the little traitor to my dear brother. How could I not have seen it?”

“Perhaps we can strike at Emrys through Merlin.”

Morgana sneered at the name. “If he is Emrys’ eyes in Camelot, then better to strike him blind. And what of the preparations for the ritual?”

Ifor raised his chin, hands held behind his back. “We will be ready in days.”

“I certainly hope so. We’ve taken too long already. In the meantime, increase the tempo of our raids. We can’t defeat Arthur’s army – yet – but we can force him to disperse his forces, choke him with refugees and interrupt the flow of food and supplies to Camelot. Hungry subjects are unhappy subjects, and unhappy subjects are less resistant to change.” She gestured toward the door.

Ifor nodded, taking the abrupt dismissal with grace, and with an inscrutable glance at Alvarr, he departed. Morgana mounted her throne and beckoned Alvarr to approach.

He stepped before her and bowed, heart thumping, gauging his danger. “My lady.”

He tried not to squirm under her cold scrutiny. “You’ve complained I do not give you your due.”

A bead of perspiration crept down his back as he readied excuses in his defense against the judgement of his mistress. “Not complained, my lady; I am merely anxious to overcome your doubts.”

Morgana smirked. “And where did those ‘doubts’ come from, I wonder?”

Alvarr hung his head, judging it wisest to remain silent, hoping not to provoke her famous temper.

“Still, perhaps I’ve been too hard on you. I’m going to give you a chance to prove yourself – an important task. If you can pull it off, the past shall be forgotten.”

Breathless, he met her gaze; this was the opportunity Alvarr had been waiting for. “I am yours to command, my lady.”

Morgana smiled; as usual, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Good. I want Merlin dead.”

Alvarr smiled to himself. If Merlin was indeed Emrys’ agent, then this would be dangerous; the situation called for a stealthy approach, and Alvarr excelled at those. He would succeed where even Morgana’s sister had failed, and his stock would rise, if not with Morgana, then with the others, and when they tired of her erratic behaviour… “My lady may consider it done.” He bowed, backed away several steps and turned to leave.

“And Alvarr…” He halted and turned back. “…make sure you see his body with your own eyes. He has a way of escaping certain death.”

***

Merlin stood in the middle of Arthur’s chambers, determined to fill a gaping hole in his magical knowledge and he had two hours to work this out before Arthur returned from morning practice. He’d prefer to do this somewhere safer, but Gaius would never approve and he had no time to go out to the woods; besides, nowhere was more private than the king’s chambers, right?

Whoever wrote his spell book seemed to have a degree of contempt for Morgause’s transporting spell, which could only move the caster a short distance with a lot of unnecessary dramatic effects. Instead, he’d learnt a much more powerful and complex spell that would take him anywhere, albeit at greater risk. Most important of all, he had to keep his mind clear of extraneous thoughts and concentrate on his destination. He’d keep his first try simple and move across the room toward the bed where the whiny little prat had slapped him for trying to get his fat arse out of bed this morning, the petulant little… no, no extraneous thoughts. Concentrate. He gathered his power, focused on his destination…

_“Þurhbregdan!”_

The room went dark. _Hmm._ _I don’t think that’s supposed to happen._ He strode to the window and glanced out at the full moon. _That’s not good._ He stopped dead in his tracks when something moved in Arthur’s bed. _That’s even worse._

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he discovered the bed wasn’t occupied by Arthur, but rather by a boy. _Odd._ He approached, wary; the boy appeared to be perhaps twelve or thirteen, straw-coloured hair, looked a lot like Arthur, actually… _Uh oh._ It’s possible an extraneous thought had run through his mind as he cast the spell – about Arthur’s childish behaviour… _Oh, no._ The boy didn’t _look_ like Arthur, he _was_ Arthur. Instead of travelling through space, he’d moved through _time_. How was that even possible? Now what? Would he ever get back? He took deep breaths, calmed his racing heart. He needed to remain cool and think this through.

Arthur moaned and turned over in his sleep, drawing Merlin’s attention to this mini version of his lord. _Oh my God, how adorable is he?_ Merlin crept toward the bed, resisting the urge pinch his little pink cheeks or his adorable button nose… He stubbed his toe on something metal – one of those bloody antique helmets.

Arthur snapped awake. “Wha…? Who’s there? Declare yourself!” He spotted Merlin. “Who are you?”

Merlin raised a finger to his mouth. “Shhh! I’m just one of the servants. I got lost and―”

“Don’t you _shush_ me, you miserable peasant! And how did you get past the guards? Whoever you are, I’ll have you know I’ve been trained to kill since birth!”

Maybe not so cute, then.

“Assassin!” Arthur turned to shout for the guards, forcing Merlin to make a snap decision.

 _“Forsuwung_!” Now at least nobody outside the room would hear them.

Arthur sat up in bed with his mouth hanging open, and Merlin noted with an internal groan that Arthur had better abs than his even as a child. “Sorcerer!”

 _Oh, great. Now what do I…_ “Oomph!” He doubled over, the breath knocked out of him. The brat punched him in the stomach – not cute at all! Arthur leapt up and landed a kick to Merlin’s face “Ow! You little…!” He stumbled backwards and banged into the wall. He shook his head clear just in time to get tackled by a compact ball of fury. With practiced ease Arthur twisted Merlin’s arm behind him and punched him in the back of the neck and he slumped, stunned. “Ow.” All right, he was going to have to… “Urgck!” Great, now Arthur had him in a choke hold. If he could just calm the little monster down... Well, Arthur always appreciated submission – Merlin tapped out. Arthur maintained his grip. Merlin tapped out again, harder. No response. _The little fuck is trying to kill me!_ He could just see his epitaph: World’s mightiest sorcerer, strangled to death by a twelve-year old.

The increasing burn in his lungs threw him back to his experience with Scar, and Merlin tensed, shaking as he clawed at Arthur’s arm and tried to buck him off, but Arthur had a firm hold and excellent balance. Merlin forced himself to calm down, collect his thoughts before it became too hard to think. It was time to apply some strategy. He couldn’t breathe, meaning he couldn’t speak, meaning he couldn’t do much but blast Arthur with magic, not an option. He had an idea – with any luck, Arthur _hadn’t choked anyone to death_ yet and wouldn’t see through this. Merlin let his struggling peter off, spasmed a few times and lay still.

Arthur, trembling, loosened his grip and Merlin sprung to grab his arm and pull it away. _“Swefe nu!”_ Arthur collapsed atop him, dead asleep. Merlin rested his forehead on the cool floor. _I think I’ll just lie here and quietly die of internal injuries._

Rising, he dragged Arthur none too gently back to bed, burning with humiliation that even as a boy Arthur could snuff him out with his bare hands without even breaking a sweat. A little more magic would be necessary; he hated to risk damage to Arthur’s mind, but he couldn’t chance him remembering, so with a light touch he blurred the prince’s memories of what had just happened. With any luck, he’d wake remembering only a hazy dream.

But this did nothing to solve the larger problem: how would he get back to where he belonged? He had no idea how to replicate whatever he’d done wrong, and he couldn’t go to Gaius – how would he explain who he was? He’d might turn Merlin in… so what… He slapped his forehead. _Of course!_

The guards weren’t any more alert eighteen years ago than in his own time, and in minutes he stood on a familiar ledge. “Hello?”

The rattling of chain heralded Kilgharrah’s arrival; he dropped from above, growling in anger. “You don’t belong here! What have you done?”

“Er, we haven’t met yet, but my name is Merlin – some people know me as Emr…”

“I know _who_ you are, I want to know _when_ you are.”

“Uh, what? Oh, right. You see the future so you recognise me.”

Kilgharrah hissed, his ancient eyes burning into Merlin with an all too familiar expression of reprimand. “I do not see the future, I see fate. Nothing is more dangerous than travelling through time, Merlin. One small alteration can forever alter destiny in ways…”

“Oh, believe me, I know from experience – I’ve caused terrible things trying to prevent the future; I don’t want to even imagine the damage that would be done by altering the past… Wait, I’m altering the past by talking to you! Oh, no! What…”

Kilgharrah rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m only to remain locked _alone_ in a cave for the next _ten years_.” Merlin grimaced and blushed. “Far more urgent is the solution to your problem. All things, Merlin, are native to somewhere and somewhen; this is why a being from another plane cannot long remain in ours, and this is the answer to your dilemma.”

“Uh, what?”

“You must go to the vaults without delay and use the Crystal of Neahtid to find the silver thread of fate that ties you to your own time – you have but to follow this to return to whence you belong.”

“Ah. Thank you.” An awkward silence followed; it didn’t seem right to just _leave_ now that he had what he wanted… “Er… so… how have things b…”

“Get out, Merlin.”

“Right.”

***

Merlin climbed the stairs from the dungeons of his own time, cloaked in magical invisibility, and tip-toed down the hall towards Gaius’ tower.

“Gaius, he’s been missing all day!”

Arthur? Shit! Who’s missing? Arthur and Gaius stood in the middle of the hall in his path, so he crept around them, careful to be utterly silent.

“Have you tried the tavern?”

Augh! _He_ has been missing all day! That stupid dragon, he could have warned him he’d show up hours…

“The _tavern_.”

Also, he was going to kill Gaius.

“As I told you, sire, I sent him to gather some very rare herbs. It’s obviously taken longer than expected…” Gaius pointedly glared at Merlin, freezing him in his tracks. “In fact, I’m absolutely certain he shall return within the hour.”

Merlin made good his escape while Gaius occupied Arthur and he darted ahead to Arthur’s chambers, did a quick survey and, with a flash of magic, clothing leapt onto shelves, dust whooshed out the window, and Arthur’s possessions arranged themselves to make it appear like he’d been working rather than lollygagging in the damned tavern all afternoon. Arthur’s angry footsteps clomped toward the door and Merlin snatched up Arthur’s helmet to polish it with a rag, whistling an innocent tune.

Arthur burst in, eyes widening when he spotted Merlin, “ _Where_ have you been?”

Merlin glanced at him with casual innocence. “Hm? Oh, Gaius sent me for some herbs earlier, but I’ve been in and out.”

Arthur scanned the room, finding it obvious Merlin had expended some effort and narrowed his eyes. As he was passing Merlin on the way to his desk, something caught his attention and he stopped to pull down Merlin’s scarf, exposing a bruise across his throat. “Do you have some weird strangulation fetish I should be worried about?”

***

“Gaius?” Out, most likely still on rounds, but a pot of stew simmered over the fire, tugging at him with the appetising aroma of meat and herbs. Merlin smiled at the old man’s thoughtfulness.

He spooned himself a bowl and sat to eat, reflecting on his conversation with Gwaine. For ten years he’d been focused on his “destiny”, protecting Arthur, trying to bring out the best in him, working to set them on their shared path to Albion. But somewhere along the way he’d lost himself; his whole life became about Arthur, and he stopped even thinking about his own happiness. He loved Arthur, but that love didn’t make him happy, it made him exhausted, sad, and full of despair. And in truth, how close had he come to achieving anything? Restoring magic? Or building Albion? Was he even _trying_ to achieve those things anymore? He once told Arthur that an unhappy king didn’t make for a stronger kingdom; but shouldn’t he heed his own advice? He’d become a dog chasing its tail – the best he could hope for was to bite his own arse. It was useless for him to pine for what he could never have, and it had to stop. And Gwaine was right – he’d never do better than Percival, and Percival had chosen _Merlin_ , above anyone else he could have had. Beautiful, intelligent, funny, sweet, caring, attentive, kind – qualities he kept listing to himself but never seemed to be enough…

Something rather odd distracted him from his thoughts. _This is really good stew._ In ten years, despite his best efforts and much disastrous experimenting, Gaius had never once made anything one would call good. So…

Merlin coughed and raised a hand to his thick, parched throat. He reached for the water jug, but a strong burning pain sliced from his throat to his abdomen; his shaking hands couldn’t support the jug and it crashed to the floor.

 _No! Not this, not now…_ His legs gave out and he banged his head on the table as he collapsed. _Gaius…_

***

_Gaius…_

Gaius' medicine kit dropped from his hands; the lid flew off and vials spilled out and rolled in all directions. _Something’s happened. Merlin!_

He raced across the courtyard as fast as his old bones would carry him – but the stairs…

After a heated battle between his creaky knees and the staircase, he reached the landing outside his door, wheezing hard-earned breaths from his burning lungs, his heart throbbing at a dangerous speed. He tried the handle. _Locked._ A crash sounded from within. _“Tospringe!”_ The lock clicked and the door creaked open.

Papers and books flew as a strange man ransacked his desk and Merlin writhed on the floor a few feet away from him. The man whirled about when he heard the door and Gaius gasped. “Alvarr!”

Alvarr’s surprise lasted only a moment before he drew his sword and leapt at Merlin. Gaius pushed aside his fear and reacted without pause. _“Wáce ierlic!”_

Alvarr threw up his arm. _“Belúcan!”_ His hasty defense blocked Gaius’ stun spell but the force sent him stumbling backward into a cabinet, his sword flying out of his hand to clang to the floor, out of his reach. Alvarr recovered his footing in an instant and Gaius’ stomach fell. “Bad move, old man, I had no quarrel with you. _Ástríce!_ ” Alvarr fired a beam of power from his hand at Gaius.

 _“Scildan!”_ The beam struck the magical shield Gaius threw up but knocked him to his knees and he yelped in pain.

Golden eyes gleaming in his snarling face, Alvarr blasted him again. The shield held this time but Gaius doubted it would survive a third; he needed to buy time. He spotted his old rabbit mask atop a bookshelf near Alvarr and hoped the odd curio still had a little magic left in it. “ _Forslieh!”_ With a ‘pop!’ the mask sprouted fangs and limbs and leapt at Alvarr’s throat.

Alvarr shrieked and struggled to wrestle away the snarling bunny snapping at his jugular.

Gaius had seconds to act. He cast his eyes about him in a frenzied search. _There!_ He snatched a metal roller-bearing from a pile of debris. “ _Ecg geteoh þing to, forsláwe_!”

Alvarr hurled the beast into a corner. “ _Ástríce!”_ His blast struck home – the rabbit staggered, coughed, and reverted to a mask to fall inert. Neck corded and nostrils flaring, Alvarr turned to face Gaius and raised his arm, his shredded sleeve exposing bloody bites and scratches.

Gaius tossed the bearing at Alvarr, who frowned and caught it in his hand.

Alvarr smirked. “Is this the best you’ve got, old fool?” He again raised a hand. _“Thaet ic maeg min faehth awr…!._

_Three… two… one…_

All at once, everything metal in the chamber hurled at Alvarr. His eyes widened. “ _Scildan!”_ A wide array of flying objects bounced against his shield and a stillborn smile of relief twisted into a silent gasp. Alvarr glanced at the bearing in his hand – attached to it was a bloody pair of scissors, assorted pins and nails and a variety of other miscellaneous objects. Standing in the middle of the room, his shield had done nothing to block the weight of metal flying at him from behind. He had only a moment to register shock before he coughed up a fountain of blood, the light went out of his eyes, and he fell flat on his face with objects too large to pass through his body sticking out of him, a ghastly pincushion.

With frantic but fading energy, Gaius crawled to Merlin’s side and grasped his trembling hand – cold and clammy; he checked his pulse – weak; pulled open an eye with his fingers – pupils dilated. _Aconite._ Gaius hauled himself creaking to his feet using the bench and shuffled to the medicine cabinet. _Digitalis._ He grabbed the vial, raced back to Merlin and poured a dose into his mouth, but the boy’s symptoms suggested a dose too large for a purely medicinal remedy to be effective – too much time had passed and anyone but Merlin would be long dead. He could not afford panic or hesitation; gathering his concentration and magic, he placed his hands on Merlin’s chest. “ _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!_ ” Merlin’s body spasmed with the energy that surged out of Gaius, now fighting to hold on to consciousness. “ _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!_ ” His heartbeat grew irregular, he struggled for each wheezing breath. “ _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare_.” He uttered this last in a hoarse whisper; he prayed it was enough and the world went dark.

***

Merlin shot upright, coughing up a sickly looking fluid into his hand. _The poison! What…?_ He gaped at the wrecked infirmary; furniture overturned, books and equipment strewn all over the floor, and face-down beside him… “Gaius!” He turned him over – pale as death, his mouth ajar. “Gaius!” Merlin shook him. _No no no no. “_ Gaius! _Gaius!”_

Gaius batted at Merlin’s hand without opening his eyes. “Why does everyone always think I’m dead in these situations? Go away,” he ordered in a weak mumble. “Stupid boy… let an old man sleep… the mess – before anyone sees…” He drifted off.

Merlin squeezed his hand, shaking with choked laughter and glistening eyes, his body trembling with the lingering weakness caused by the poison as the adrenaline left him. _Thank all the gods. Wait, the mess… What happened?_ He pulled himself to his feet to survey the wreckage. “Eek!” He stumbled back when he met the dead eyes staring at him from a large pool of blood on the floor, the body… _Is that a candlestick in his…?_

He recognised the man – Alvarr. _Well, this confirms it – Morgana knows. I’m fucked._ He locked the door with magic and decided to join Gaius and promptly passed out on the floor.

_***_

Arthur studied the back of Merlin’s head; as usual, Merlin had sat at the table to work, but he had chosen a seat facing away from Arthur’s desk. Arthur had a certain… knot inside him that had formed and grown since Merlin had ceased to speak to him after he had sentenced the smuggler to death. “You’re angry with me.”

Merlin paused in his work, turned his head to the side. “I’m not angry, I’m disappointed.”

Merlin had intended that to make him feel bad, and it worked – Arthur’s knot tightened further. “Merlin, the law is clear. It’s my responsibility to uphold it, and smuggling is punishable by death. I know you think that’s cruel, but to make an example is a greater mercy than to allow disorder to arise, with all the accompanying evils.”

Merlin returned to his papers and shrugged. “It’s your kingdom...”

Arthur clamped down on his rising temper, counted to ten. One thing he had little patience for was passive-aggression, and Merlin well knew that. “So you would have me pardon smugglers.”

Merlin continued to write. “There are shortages that we’re unable to remedy, and the smugglers provide necessary goods. I would temporarily suspend the ban as a crisis measure – this would drive their prices down and your subjects would benefit. If you execute the smuggler, you’ll only drive the rest further underground where they’ll continue to operate at even higher prices and only your subjects will suffer.”

Arthur blinked in surprise at this well-thought-out plan. “I have to take a longer view, Merlin. My reign doesn’t end when the crisis passes – I have to consider the precedents set, and the weakness that such a measure would demonstrate. What may cause some small sacrifice now is for the benefit of all in the long term.”

Merlin shrugged again. “As I said, it’s your kingdom.”

Refusing to be provoked, Arthur rose from his desk and approached Merlin. “You would have me legitimise smugglers – criminals.”

“You didn’t have a problem with smugglers helping you regain your throne – I believe one gave her life to save yours.”

The blood pounded in Arthur’s ears as he seized Merlin’s chair, spun it around, and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders to drag him to his feet. “Is this a game to you?”

Merlin retained his calm, his blank expression speaking a thousand words. “I assure you it is not.”

“Tell me, Merlin, is it more important for a king to be loved, or to be feared?”

Merlin paused, looking him straight in the eye. “Feared.”

This threw Arthur. “You surprise me, Merlin. I expected a different answer.”

Merlin frowned. “Why should that surprise you? The king depends upon the threat of force…” He gave a pointed glance to Arthur’s hand squeezing his shoulder, and Arthur released him. “…to maintain order and justice. If a king applies justice with prudence and humanity, his subjects may fear him, but they will also respect him, and respect is the foundation of love.”

This rendered Arthur speechless, with a hitch in his chest and a treacherous sting in his eyes.

Merlin placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, his expression now warm. “You know all this, Arthur, when you follow your own mind and instincts, and not your father’s. This is why you are both loved and feared, while he was feared and hated.” He smiled and stroked his thumb over Arthur’s shoulder, sending a chill through his body. Lost to his thoughts, Arthur remained silent as Merlin excused himself and left.

Just now, staring into Merlin’s eyes, Arthur had seen… something, a power, emanating from deep within, the strength that had carried Arthur, rescued him from himself time after time. Something he already knew deep down bubbled its way to the surface – while he systematically ignored Merlin’s counsel, often with disastrous results, in simple fact Merlin was almost always right, and it had always been so, and Arthur needed to examine what caused him to resist this truth with such stubbornness.


	14. Getting it Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a heavy D/s scene.

Leon took satisfaction and pride in his aim as he hit Breunor squarely between the eyes with a penny, and startled, Breunor only stopped himself falling backward in his chair by clamping his hands to the table, producing chuckles from the few alert knights. “Am I boring you, Sir Breunor?”

“Not at all, Sir Leon. I wasn’t paying the slightest attention to your tiresome droning.” The table erupted in laughter and Leon narrowed his eyes when he caught Arthur suppressing a smile.

“If you believe you can read the garrison report in a more entertaining manner, Sir Breunor, you’re welcome to do so.” This earned a snicker or two and Leon frowned in confusion. He thought that was a very funny comeback.

“Sir Leon, my grandmother’s maid could read the garrison report in a more entertaining manner, and she’s a mute. _And_ she’s been dead for twenty years!”

Leon waited with patience and fortitude for the laughter to abate, tutting at how unseemly it was for knights to laugh at such a morbid thought. “If I might cont—”

Arthur interrupted him. “Thank you, Sir Leon, your attention to detail is always appreciated.” Leon made a mental list of all the men who snickered; they’d just assigned themselves to night patrol in East Toadswart. The king folded his hands. “Perhaps we can continue reading the report at the next meeting.”

“But I—”

“Moving along, you are all doubtless aware of Camelot’s recent acquisition of the village of Ealdor on the northern border.” Forgetting his report for a moment, Leon glanced at Merlin, who beamed at the king. “We’ll need to assess the defensive possibilities of the locale. Merlin, can you give us an overview?”

All heads turned to Merlin, who jumped and searched behind him as if another Merlin might be there. Finding no one, he took a hesitant step forward and swallowed. “Err, well Ealdor sits close to the road from Mercia – when I was a boy during the war, we used to hide in the caverns nearby whenever a Mercian army passed in case outriders decided to raid us. The village is on flat land though, so it’s not easy to defend. His majesty taught us to dig rows of ditches to hinder cavalry, but that’s the sum of Ealdor’s defenses.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” Merlin reddened, dazed, and with a goofy smile on his face, stepped back to his normal position. Arthur continued, “In case of war with Mercia, a force in Ealdor would need to be dislodged as a threat to communications before any advance would be possible. Sir Accolon will depart immediately to survey the site and begin improvements.” Accolon bowed his head and the knights nodded in approval at the appointment of the veteran engineer, his grey hair proof of long years of service dating to the beginning of Uther’s reign.

Arthur continued with his features schooled blank. “I would now like to discuss the food shortages. As you are all aware, Morgana’s raids have disrupted the flow of goods to Camelot, and we are having to house an increasing number of refugees. To deal with this crisis, I am temporarily legalising and licensing the activities of smugglers...”

Arthur had rehearsed this with Leon before the meeting, so Leon ignored the murmuring from around the table and stole a glance at Merlin because he didn’t want to miss his expression. Merlin’s head shot up, and he stared for a moment, slack-mouthed, before his face spread in a dazzling smile. Leon had no interest in boys, but he’d sign over his patrimony to have someone look at him with the unfettered adoration and devotion he shined on Arthur.

“…and as such, our grain reserves have dwindled to a concerning level.”

Leon had almost missed his cue, “If I may, sire, what precisely is left in the reserve?”

Arthur turned to Merlin. “Merlin? The figure?”

Merlin stepped forward again. “We currently have in our stores—”

Arthur cut him off, irritation in his voice. “Oh for goodness sake, Merlin, will you sit down? You’re making me nervous with your hovering and giving me a crick in my neck.”

Leon smiled with delight as Merlin’s eyes widened, and he scanned the space around him; with no chair to sit in, he studied the floor as if considering it.

Arthur tapped the empty chair to his right. “Just sit here, Merlin.”

Merlin jerked his head up, eyes darting. “But that’s Lancelot’s chair…”

Arthur nodded. “I’ve been holding this seat for someone worthy of it.”

The chamber fell silent as stone and all eyes focused on Merlin, who stood paralysed before he inched forward and reached with a shaking hand to touch the seat back. Arthur beckoned him to sit. Merlin stepped around the chair, grasped the edge of the table as if to steady himself, and with reverential grace lowered himself into the seat.

As one, the knights rose to their feet and gave him a rousing ovation with shouts and applause. Merlin brushed the tears from his eyes, blushing and laughing. Merlin met Arthur’s gaze and the king winked at him, producing a soft smile that made Leon feel like he was intruding on a private moment.

***

Gwaine plopped down on the bench opposite Percival and clunked two tankards of ale onto the table; he glanced into Percival’s untouched flagon and shrugged. No matter, he’d put the spare to good use. “Come on, Perce, you’re depressing me.”

Percival didn’t seem to care to divert his attention from whatever he found so fascinating in his mug. “Sorry.”

Gwaine frowned and shook Percival’s shoulder. “This is a party, and you’re not allowed to mope. Besides, you promised. Now go have fun. Do it for Merlin – this is his night.”

Leaning on an elbow, Percival buried his face in his hand with a long, low sigh.

Gwaine sighed. “Alright, let’s hear it. You may lament for five minutes, after which you must drink and be merry.”

Percival lowered his hand and his brief eye contact exposed dark circles under red eyes, and Gwaine winced before his poor, miserable friend returned to the study of his tankard.

Percival traced the rim of his mug with a finger. “I got what I deserve for letting myself... I knew he’d get bored of me and this would happen.”

Gwaine squeezed his eyes shut against the onset of a sudden headache. _These two will be the death of me._ “Don’t give in so fast, Percy. You have so much to offer – you just need to make him see it.”

Percival frowned. “How can I compete with a king? You saw how happy he was when Arthur gave him his seat, how he looked at him.”

“And about fucking time, too.”

Percival shook his head, eyes downcast. “I don’t know what more I can do.” He sighed again. “All I ever wanted was someone to look after.”

“You don't think you can compete? You can kick Arthur’s arse at anything, and you know Merlin doesn’t care about titles and status. So what do you think it is Merlin _really_ sees in Arthur?”

Percival shrugged. “I wish I knew. The king usually isn’t even very nice to him – always roughing him up, ordering him about… Merlin puts up with all of it and still… It’s almost like he _wants_ to be treated like that.”

 _And there we are._ “Hmm. ‘Like he wants to be treated like that.’” Percival frowned at him. Gwaine stood and patted him on the shoulder. “Now you have something to think about.”

***

Percival lay stretched out under a tree at the edge of the practice field, taking a break from the morning’s workout to watch Arthur use Merlin as a boxing dummy.

Cocooned in a double layer of arming jackets and a helmet and carrying a padded target shield, Merlin stumbled backward under a blizzard of kicks and punches from Arthur, mumbling and cursing under his breath while the king taunted him.

“Oh, come _on_ , Merlin! Put your back into it! A little girl with a ruptured tendon would put up better resistance than this! Let’s see some footwork!”

Merlin tore off his helmet and threw it to the ground, revealing his sweat-plastered hair, his face red with exertion and anger. “What do you expect, _sire_? I can’t even see in the blasted helmet and I can barely move in all this padding!”

Percival smiled and the men lounging around him snickered at Merlin’s impertinence, enjoying their daily entertainment.

Arthur shook his head, smirking. “Are you suggesting you’d do better unencumbered by protection?”

Merlin frowned. “Well…”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Please, without the padding I’d take you down in three seconds with a hand tied behind my back.”

Merlin ripped off his arming jackets and hurled away his shield. “Is that a challenge, _sire_?” A cloud of muttering erupted from the knights punctuated by the clink of coins being ponied up.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you what, Merlin, I’ll even go left-handed to give you at least a teensy-tiny chance.” He tucked his right hand into his belt behind his back while the knights grinned at each other, thrilled to get a bonus show.

Merlin squinted at Arthur with his forehead furled. “If I last three seconds?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow “If you last three seconds I’ll give you the rest of the day off.”

Merlin’s frown deepened. “And if I don’t?”

Arthur pursed his lips and tapped a finger on his chin before the edge of his lip curled upward. “You will be my slave for the rest of the day.”

Merlin huffed. “You mean like I already am? Then I can’t lose - it’s a deal.” He kicked his discarded jackets out of the way and took up a fighting stance opposite Arthur. Percival’s face burned with sympathetic embarrassment as he took in Merlin’s clumsy pose contrasted against Arthur’s cool confidence, the outline of his muscular body visible beneath his sweat-soaked tunic. Only loyalty stopped him from placing a bet on Arthur.

Arthur gave Merlin his most intimidating combat stare and Merlin gulped. Arthur glanced to his side. “Leon, call it.”

Leon shook his head, smiling. “Three… two… one… begin!”

Before Merlin even had a chance to move, Arthur grabbed his wrist and ensnared the other when Merlin made the mistake of trying to pry Arthur’s hand away, spun him and used Merlin’s own arm to put him in a chokehold, dropped him to the ground, and holding Merlin in his lap, clamped his legs around Merlin’s and pinned him, imprisoned and helpless.

His face turning a deepening red, Merlin thrashed and struggled against Arthur’s strong hold while the king purred into his ear, “Do you yield, _Mer_ lin? Speak up, I can’t hear you, _Mer_ lin. Why are you turning blue like that, _Mer_ lin?” After one final arch of his body, powerless and unable to speak or tap out, Merlin slumped and waited for Arthur to release him, draping his head back over his king’s shoulder in a posture of submission that resembled pleasure more than pain. Why would Merlin react that way to such a humiliating defeat?

To a refrain of clinking as coins changed hands, Arthur released Merlin and allowed him to recover for a moment, gasping in his lap, before he rose and pulled Merlin up with him.

A servant brought a folding seat from the tents at Arthur’s command, and the king sprawled in it. “Is there no footstool?”

The servant started. “No sire, but I’ll go get one from the castle.”

Arthur smiled and waved off the servant. “No need, Merlin will attend to it.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and turned to head back to the castle. Arthur smirked. “No, no, Merlin – I meant you’ll attend to it personally.”

Merlin spun to face him, frowning in confusion.

Arthur pointed to the ground at his feet and, as the realisation of what Arthur wanted hit him, Merlin’s mouth dropped open and his face twisted in outrage. “Oh, you are _not_ serious.”

“Slave for a day, Merlin.” Merlin approached as ordered, lips pressed together and shaking his head, and amid the catcalls of the knights, Arthur inclined his head, giving a pointed glance to the ground. Muttering under his breath, Merlin dropped to hands and knees at Arthur’s feet. Arthur set his boots on Merlin’s back, legs crossed at the ankles and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head.

Percival let out the breath he’d been holding; flushing with angry heat, he stood, jaw clenched and determined to challenge Arthur for this outrageous public humiliation.

However, Arthur threw back his head and laughed, leaving his feet on Merlin for only a moment before he reached over and mussed Merlin’s hair, rose, and again pulled Merlin up and flung an arm around his shoulders. “Go ahead and take your day off. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Red faced, Merlin smiled and ducked Arthur’s second attempt to muss his hair. Merlin met Percival’s gaze and as if caught doing something wrong he froze and his smile dropped off his face. Arthur turned as well and his eyes widened when Percival’s met his, and removing his arm from Merlin’s shoulders he took a step back, reaching for the sword he wasn't wearing by reflex.

“I get to fight Merlin next!”

Percival whirled on Bors, making him stumble backwards as if shoved to crash into a rack of weapons before Percival turned back to face Arthur, who lowered his gaze and kicked a pebble at his feet.

Merlin’s wide eyes shot between Percival and Arthur. “Uh, I’ll just be going now.” He beat a hasty retreat.

Percival realised he must be glaring judging by the king’s and Bors’ reaction and schooled his features as the implications of what he’d just witnessed sank in. Arthur hadn’t so much humiliated Merlin as rubbed his face in his loss – and to be honest Merlin had been asking for it. The king had compensated by demonstrating his regard and affection in front of the army, and Percival hadn’t missed Merlin’s adoring smile.

Percival thought back to his time wandering with Lancelot and how he’d been happy and proud to be subservient to such a great man; Merlin’s relationship with Arthur was both similar and different, but now he understood Gwaine’s strange parting statement and he did indeed have some thinking to do.

***

Merlin paused at the door; Gwaine was right, he was using Percival to stave off his loneliness and at some point they needed to talk… but not tonight. Tomorrow. He sighed, having told himself the same thing yesterday. He knocked, and Percival answered wearing only his trousers and a fragile smile. "Hey."

"Hey." The sight of Percival never ceased to give him butterflies – his statuesque poise, the perfection of his body, the lovely, vulnerable smile gracing his beautiful features... So what was the problem? Was Percival too available? Did Merlin want Arthur _because_ he couldn’t have him? Or was Percival too safe? The awful night with the mercenaries, Arthur had horrified Merlin with his barbarity, but to be honest, it excited him; and the other day when Arthur had him imprisoned with his body and taunted him with his mouth at Merlin’s ear… Arthur had a dark side that lusted for conquest and control, dangerous and unpredictable, and this ignited in Merlin an overwhelming need that all of Percival’s perfection and loving attention simply did not.

Percival moved aside to let Merlin in and shut the door. "How was your day?"

"About normal."

Percival raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

Merlin sniggered and gave Percival a peck on the lips before turning to go sit. Strong hands on his shoulders stopped him; Percival leaned in to kiss Merlin's neck and Merlin angled away. And yet again – Merlin liked the weight of Percival’s hands on his shoulders and the massive legs framing his own slender limbs, and he looked forward to curling up with Percival… but the wrongness he felt on the emotional level stood in the way of physical passion. Perhaps he should have stayed in his own room tonight.

"Not tonight, please. I'm tired and I’ve got a headache." He turned away to go sit by the fire. "I could use a good massage, tho…ulp!"

Percival grabbed him by the throat and backed him against the wall, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"I didn't ask what you want."

Percival’s huge hand nearly circled Merlin’s neck; Merlin tugged at his wrist, pried at his fingers, but he’d have better luck against an iron manacle. Percival had perfect control – he could have killed Merlin instantly if he’d wanted, but instead he’d employed the precise amount of force needed to render him helpless without hurting him. Merlin had grown used to thinking of Percival’s body as a source of warmth and comfort, not as the instrument of his domination and, as his body surrendered, the only thought in his mind was _oh, hell yes_. Percival glanced at Merlin’s tenting trousers, and his mischievous twinkle turned into a taunting smirk as he slid Merlin up the wall, leaving his feet kicking above the ground.

"Percival… "

Percival squeezed, forcing Merlin to gasp for air. "Shut it. I'll tell you when to speak – we'll have no more of your mouthing off."

Percival’s contemptuous smirk sent a thrill of excitement through Merlin; a smirk that said he had no chance at all, and truly he didn’t – Merlin gawked in awe at the massive size of the arm, thicker than his own leg, with which Percival held his entire weight off the ground with casual ease, to extinguish him at will. “Perc—”

Percival tightened his grip and Merlin couldn’t breathe at all. "What did I just tell you? I’ll need to beat some discipline into you."

Merlin tore at Percival’s hand and kicked at his body; Percival batted away his strongest attempts with ease until Merlin grew weak and gave up to sag inert and dangle limply. His eyes rolled back and the burning in his lungs faded with his consciousness, but before he blacked out, the warmth around his throat fell away, air rushed into his lungs, and he slid down the wall to lie in a panting heap at Percival’s feet.

Groggy and wheezing, he pushed himself to his knees, tilted his head up at Percival. A sharp sting to his cheek and stars before his eyes followed a slap he hadn’t seen coming. "Don't look at me. Don’t touch me unless I tell you to."

Percival dragged Merlin to his feet by the tunic and pushed him against the wall, cornered him with his burning and oppressive body like years ago in the lamia's castle – Merlin’s prime fantasy scenario for weeks afterwards and still a favourite. Merlin trembled, his heart racing, genuine fear mixed with his excitement; fantasy or no, an angry and menacing Percival was terrifying.

“You need to learn your place. I’m a knight of the realm, and you’re just a servant. I’ve power of life and death over you and you’ll do what I want, when I want it.”

Dizzy with desire and danger and Percival’s heat and scent, Merlin couldn’t help but reach out to touch a hand to the heaving wall of muscle commanding his entire field of vision. Percival’s hand shot up and seized his wrist. The cold, quiet threat in his voice sent a hot shiver through Merlin. “See, you shouldn’t have done that. Disobeying me is treason, and you know the sentence – we don’t need any unruly subjects. So this is how it’ll go: I’ll have my way with you, then I’m going to have to execute you.”

Merlin gasped in thrilled astonishment at this turnaround, and in a flash of insight he realised what had been wrong. Percival had placed him on a pedestal, dancing around him, nervous and tentative as if Merlin were a precious artifact he had no right to, creating a distance Merlin couldn’t bridge and forcing him into a position that rang false. Quite the opposite, Merlin felt like an awkward boy lusting after someone completely out of his league at whose feet he should throw himself in supplication. Merlin had his magic, but that was innate; he had nothing of Percival’s iron will – everything about him, his muscles, his skills as a warrior, his moral character, all things he’d built through hard work and discipline that Merlin would never have – a superior breed of man, better than Merlin in every way. This is what deep down Merlin had wanted and needed all along – to be taken, subjugated, to have a strong master to love him.

Percival traced Merlin’s lips with his index finger in a slow circle. “I haven’t any weapons, so I’ll need to put you down by hand.” Merlin shuddered in anticipation and, scared and tentative, touched his tongue to the finger, unsure if he had permission, but Percival pushed past his teeth and greedy as a hog, Merlin sucked his finger in.

“I’ll even let you choose the means. I could smother you with a pillow…” Merlin’s eyes shot wide, but he continued swirling his tongue around Percival’s finger. “…or drown you in my washbasin...” Merlin grabbed Percival’s hand and greedily sucked in another finger, witless with craving.

Percival swept his thumb over Merlin’s Adam’s apple. “Or I’ll just finish what I started before.” Merlin squeaked with desire and Percival smirked in victory. “So that’s it then, is it? Very well, if you behave and please me, I’ll show you mercy and wring your neck when I’m done with you.”

 _Oh my God._ Merlin’s could hardly bear his primal need to touch Percival, wrap around him, feel his crushing weight thrusting into him.

“But if you displease me or disobey me again, I’ll start with your toes and work my way up, snapping every bone in your body till you’re begging for the end. Are we clear?” Merlin huffed a trembling breath, excited by the casual tone of this grisly threat and continued to devour Percival’s hand with his obscene worship as Percival pulled down on his teeth and forced him to his knees.

Percival snorted, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you, you sick fuck." The wet spot over the bulge in Merlin’s trousers betrayed just how true that was and his pride burned at the humiliation of it. "All right, that's enough. Strip." Percival wiped his wet hand off in Merlin’s hair and took a step back. Merlin sat on the floor and pulled off his boots and socks; he hesitated for a moment, already naked under Percival’s ruthless gaze, and slipped off his tunic.

Just that morning he’d been admiring himself in his mirror as he dressed, proud of the weight he’d built up to impress Arthur (not that he’d noticed); now he wanted to hide, embarrassed by his scrawny body. Even if they were now in the same state of undress, Percival was armoured with tanned planes of muscle; in contrast, Merlin had only his pasty and stringy frame.

Finally, he slipped off his trousers, now bare and pale as a peeled apple. He’d undressed before Percival many times, but he’d never felt so exposed, small and vulnerable, ashamed to be so aroused by this treatment and humiliated that his bobbing, fully erect length compared poorly to the flaccid bulge in Percival’s trousers. Shrinking into himself, he drew his knees to his chest, his eyes and cheeks hot.

With a sneer, Percival crouched over Merlin, grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, the tug sending an exciting jolt through him. He surveyed Merlin’s body and snorted, shaking his head. "You're pathetic, pining for the king like you do. That's right, I see how you moon over him. We all see it, and we laugh at you. You really think he’d ever want a weakling like you?”

Merlin wilted, stripped of his dignity as well as his clothes, with his deepest insecurity laid bare and mocked by the man who personified every quality he lacked. What did it say about Merlin that this only flooded him with heat, made his chest flutter, his fingers ache with the need to touch, crave to be touched?

Percival rose, took a step back and unfastened his trousers. “Let’s see if we can put that jabbering mouth of yours to better use.” His trousers dropped, revealing his hardening length, and weak and dizzy, Merlin’s breath quickened through parted lips. Percival pointed to the ground in front of him, and throbbing with need, Merlin required no other prompting to crawl the short distance and rise to his knees to worship Percival with his hands and mouth.

Percival grabbed his ears as an anchor point. “We’ve finally found a use for these ridiculous things.” Merlin paused for a moment, wondering if he was this transparent or if Percival was so perceptive that he could recognise and exploit with such ease every single one of his insecurities, from the deepest to the smallest.

Merlin found Percival’s size challenging under normal circumstances, but with Percival controlling their pace, burying himself to the root, Merlin gagged and choked, revelling in the degradation of being used this way, fighting against his gag reflex and struggling for air. Eyes squeezed shut, Percival threw his head back, grunting. “Feels so good. You’re doing so well – I love your mouth…” The praise was almost enough to send Merlin over in itself; but just as he lost his struggle for breath and bright flashes danced in his darkening vision, Percival let go of his ears and pulled out trembling and panting with abandon. “Open wide.”

Merlin angled his head back and obeyed. Percival jacked himself in Merlin's face, and he watched in awe at the play of Percival's chest and shoulder muscles, flexed by the motion; now nearly mad with lust he reached for himself but Percival kicked his hand away. “Not yet… nnngh… you’ve been so good… ah…” Merlin extended his tongue and Percival’s knuckles and length brushed it with each thrust. Percival’s body stiffened and with a final strangled groan and the cry “Merlin, fuck…” he came hard, spurting all over Merlin's face and into his mouth, and pumped until he'd ridden his climax through to the last spasm. Merlin swallowed and licked his lips, savouring the salty-sweet taste and trembling with need as Percival dragged fingers down his face to gather his come and pushed them into Merlin's mouth to be licked clean with a bottomless hunger.

Percival dropped to his knees, his gaze warmer, sated. “You can look at me now.”

Feverish and shaking, tears welling in his eyes, his voice choked with emotion, Merlin could only beg, burning to launch into Percival and rut like an animal against him. “Please…”

Percival scooted to sit against the wall and pulled Merlin between his legs against his still-heaving chest. “You’ve been very good – so obedient. All right, time to finish you off…” He wrapped his arms tight around Merlin, circling his straining length with one hand, his neck with the other. “Feel so good, so tired…” He rested his thumb under Merlin's Adam’s apple, and with his mouth to Merlin's ear he murmured, "But all I need is one thumb to put an end to you."

“Oh God…” Merlin shuddered with delight, threw his head back. Percival pressed his thumb against Merlin’s throat and pumped him with slow, firm strokes. Merlin wilted into the intimate and crushing embrace, cocooned in the burning heat of Percival’s body as he brought Merlin to completion with one hand while squeezing the life out of him with the other. Merlin had never been so controlled, ruled, owned, and for the first time with Percival, wanted as _Merlin_ , not some abstraction like a princess in a tower waiting to be rescued by her knight in shining armour.

Lack of air tightened Merlin’s muscles as his climax built like never before, and arching his head over Percival’s shoulder, his body stiff as a board, he came with blinding force, shooting in jets across the room. He would have screamed Percival’s name if he could – and he clamped down hard on his magic to avoid doing anything unfortunate like blasting the castle to dust.

Percival continued to stroke him until his last tremors ceased before releasing his grip on Merlin's throat; Merlin slumped boneless and, more relaxed and sated than he’d ever been, he passed out.

***

Merlin roused some time later in Percival’s bed, a warm body spooning him and a heavy arm over his chest. His revelled in the aching of his body and burning throat and he purred with pleasure, writhed against Percival’s body and stroked his arm, already craving another go. “That was amazing.” His hoarse voice made him smile. Percival remained silent, and Merlin groaned to himself. “And you’re not happy.”

He twisted to face Percival, who lay propped on his elbow looking uneasy. He glanced at Merlin and looked away. “I did that for you...”

Merlin frowned. "What’s wrong?”

Percival shook his head. "I don’t… it’s…”

Merlin shut his eyes and a cold weight of humiliation throbbed in his chest as he realised his pleasure had a cost to Percival, who now knew his deepest desires and had rejected them. Would he now think of Merlin as some sort of deviant? “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Percival rolled on his back to stare at the ceiling. “That was wrong. It's not who I am.”

“Come on, Percival, it wasn’t real and I wanted it, so why—“

“You’re bleeding.”

Merlin dabbed a finger against his lip. “Only because I bit myself at one point. Look—“

"The things I said to you were so cruel I felt like crying." Merlin huffed a laugh, but Percival’s frown said he found no humour here.

Merlin took a deep breath and let it out. “Look, I loved everything you did tonight, but I don’t need to be roughed up or cruelly taunted if you don’t like that. What I _do_ need is… to be helpless, to have my life in someone's hands. To totally give up control is… well, liberating. When I’m under your power, I feel protected… loved." Percival’s eyes shot to Merlin’s. “And I couldn’t help notice you were able to… you couldn’t have faked… well something must have worked for you…”

Percival turned away.

The silence was telling, and Merlin smirked. “There _is_ something. Tell me.”

Percival still wouldn’t face him. “I liked making you happy."

Merlin grabbed his chin to try to force him to look at him, but he failed to budge Percival’s head so much as an inch. “Come on, I know there’s more than that – knights are sworn to tell the truth.”

Percival’s eyes flitted to Merlin’s before he again turned away, shoulders drawn up and flushing. “I… I might not have minded being in control too much.”

 _Hah!_ Merlin kissed Percival, ran a hand over his chest, slid his hard length against that rippling stomach, already hungry for another round. “So you liked controlling me, did you?”

This earned the shadow of a smile from Percival. “I liked shutting you up…”

“Well then…” Merlin kissed him, deep and dirty, and something hard pressed into his thigh. “…why don’t you shut me up?”

Percival shut him up five more times.

***

Merlin limped back to his room not long before dawn; exhausted, Percival had thrown him out _. “You’re insatiable, you bloody pervert! I need my sleep!”_ Merlin rotated his shoulder and winced; every joint in his body had been wrenched and he wondered if it was possible to bruise one’s internal organs. One thing was sure, he wouldn’t walk straight for a week, but it was worth every second. Merlin sighed in relief to find Gaius still fast asleep and wrote him a note asking him to tell Arthur he was too ill to attend him today. Retreating to his room, he stripped naked, unable to endure the chaffing of his coarse clothing tonight. He climbed into bed, drew a bed sheet over himself and within seconds fell into a deep slumber.

He had no sensation of time passing at all when someone wakened him by flicking the back of his head. "Get up, you lazy sod. Sick, my arse." Merlin cracked open his eyes and squeezed them shut against the morning light. The flicking continued, and with ponderous effort and still sore, he turned to face his tormentor. "I see you've had another late night at the tav— Merlin! Oh my God!"

Arthur stood over him with a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

"Arthur? What's wrong?"

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

Cheeks burning, Merlin pulled his sheet to his neck, self-conscious in his nudity. "What? I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Look!" He pulled Merlin's small mirror off the wall, held it up to him and yanked the sheet down to his waist, again gasping. Merlin’s ears and neck tingled and burned. The bruising on his neck revealed the outline of Percival’s hand; his eye was ringed with a purple bruise he didn’t remember getting, he had a split lip from biting it when Percival slapped him, scrapes lined his shoulders from being dragged along the wall, and his pale skin bore angry red welts, numerous bite marks, and bruises. "Who did this? Were you in a tavern brawl?"

Merlin sighed, wrested the sheet from Arthur and again pulled it over his chest. "No, nothing like that. I wasn't at a tavern.” One of these days he’d get his revenge upon Gaius. “Can we drop this please?"

Arthur shook his head with quick, sharp jerks, eyes flinty. "Merlin, you're my responsibility and whoever did this needs to be brought to justice. Were you ambushed by ruffians?"

"Ambushed by… Arthur, no. I didn't leave the castle. Can you—"

Arthur’s mouth dropped open. "You mean it happened _here?_ " He ran a hand through his hair. "Was it that brutish page boy with the grey tooth?"

"Roderick? No! Please don't ask any more. I don't want to cause trouble..."

Arthur pressed his palms to his temples as his face twisted in outrage. "My God, did a knight do this to you?"

Merlin sank into his mattress and kept his mouth shut. This was sliding downhill, fast.

"Shit! It was a knight!" Arthur clenched his fists, and Merlin thought he detected the embers of those black flames of murder. "Who?"

Merlin hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. "Arthur, look, it's not what you think."

"Merlin, I'm not leaving until you tell me."

 _Oh God. Why me?_ "If you must know, it's from…" He paused. This was worse than when his mother had given him ‘the talk’.

"Merlin…"

"You know, from…" He made rolling forward gestures, but of course, Arthur had to choose this moment not to understand hand signals…

 _"From what?_ "

"From…" He rolled his eyes. "…carnal congress."

_"YOU WERE RAPED?"_

"Well, maybe a little at first…"

Arthur clenched his teeth. "Merlin. For the last time. Who."

Merlin slapped his hands to his eyes and groaned. "Remember where I said I was going yesterday evening?"

"Yes, you were going to Percival's cha… oh." His eyes shot wide.

"Look, he didn't do anything I didn't want him to. Do you understand? Are you happy now?"

Arthur turned ashen, staring straight ahead at nothing. "I see. Carry on, then. I’ll expect you tomorrow morning." He turned and retreated as rapidly as was possible in a seemly manner.

Merlin covered his head with his pillow and whimpered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Merlin/Arthur conversation at the end of this chapter contains a Monty Python homage.


	15. Forlorn

Merlin slouched toward the kitchen to get the moody little prat another lunch, because heaven forefend he make do with chicken sausage instead of— “Eeep!” A strong hand wrapped around his face and yanked him into an alcove. He had no chance to figure out what was happening before his attacker slammed him face first against the wall and yanked down his trousers; he moaned into the hand clamped over his mouth as Percival pounded into him, and when Merlin reached his toe-curling climax, he had only an instant to register his come dripping down the wall before Percival yanked his trousers up and shoved him stumbling back into the hall.

Dripping with sweat and clothes and hair in wild disarray, Merlin narrowly avoided plowing into Bors before he regained his balance, and flushing, he lowered his head and retreated with rapid, stiff strides, followed by Bors’ incredulous, open-mouthed stare.

***

“Touch it.”

Obeying the order, Merlin ran a hand over Percival’s bicep, massive and bulging in all its flexed glory, smooth, hot and hard.

“Kiss it.”

Again Merlin obeyed and touched his lips to the throbbing muscle, inhaling Percival’s scent, drunk on his helplessness in the shadow of such raw physical power, and he shivered, giddy as he wondered what Percival would do to him next.

“See, _this_ is what a man’s arm should look like…” He wrapped his hand around Merlin’s bicep. “…not these twigs. Now lick it.”

A bead of fluid ran down his stiff length and Merlin didn’t think he could take much more of this exquisite torture – Percival had the self-control to keep this up for hours, while Merlin was bursting at the seams; he reached for Percival’s semi-hard length as he lapped at his muscles.

"If you touch that or your own, I won’t let you come tonight.”

 _Argh!_ Well, Merlin had his ways of advancing things when he wanted… “Come on, I’ve waited long enough!”

Percival went still and lowered his arm. “Are you talking back to me?”

Merlin grinned inside, even as he trembled with desire and a dose of fear. “N-no…?”

“You know what happens when you talk back.” Percival sighed and shook his head. “Why do you make me punish you like this?”

Merlin gasped as Percival scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder like a rag; he strode over to a chair, sat and spread Merlin over his lap, pressing his straining length against a muscular thigh as Merlin held his breath anticipation.

***

Merlin scurried down the hall (late), dodging guards and maidservants as he bore Arthur’s lunch on a silver platter (very late). He burst through Arthur’s door and stopped short, gaping, and a heavy weight dropped into his stomach. “ _What happened to your hair?_ ”

Arthur glanced up from his desk to hurl a scowl at Merlin and returned to his work. All his beautiful blond hair, gone, cropped close to his head, leaving at most a quarter inch. Merlin’s throat tightened – he already missed the sensation of running his fingers through Arthur’s soft, silken locks at bath time.

Arthur answered without moving his eyes from his scribbling. “It’s called a haircut, Merlin. Surely you’re familiar with the concept.”

“But why so short? I hardly recognise you!”

Arthur huffed. “Don’t be so dramatic, Merlin. I do this every summer – it’s more comfortable in the heat.”

“You do _not_ do this every summer. I’ve been here ten years and you’ve never once cut off all your hair.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he glanced at Merlin. “That’s because the task would fall to my manservant and there’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near my head with a sharp object. Now if you don’t mind…”

“And summer’s pretty much ove—

_“Merlin.”_

Arthur didn’t appear to be in a mood for teasing so Merlin held his tongue and cleared a place on the desk to set down the tray. Merlin preferred the normal length of Arthur’s hair, but now up close, he had to admit Arthur looked rugged and sexy with this style, which also showed off his noble forehead and made his gorgeous eyes stand out even more, not that he’d ever tell _him_ —

“You’re gawking, Merlin.”

 _Oops._ Merlin flushed. “You aren’t even looking at me!”

“I don’t need to look at you to know you’re gawking.”

Merlin spotted the minute upturn of the corner of Arthur’s mouth and realised Arthur was playing with him after all. “Can I touch it?”

“Merlin, I’m trying to work.”

“Please?”

Arthur sighed and bowed his head. “Make it quick.”

Merlin stepped around the desk to rub his fingers over the back of Arthur’s head. Even this short, his hair retained its silky softness, and lacked the brush-like quality of Percival’s thicker hair when he brushed his fingers against the grain…

Merlin came back to himself and realised he’d been massaging Arthur’s head for some time and Arthur’s breath had deepened as his body relaxed. He arrested his hand and Arthur stiffened and cleared his throat. Merlin scurried away to complete his chores, and they did their respective work in silence.

***

Gwen shivered as a chill breeze brushed over her and raised goose-pimples, but nothing would lower the heat in her cheeks or diminish the painful smile splitting her face as her whole body tingled with beautiful, tragic happiness. Lancelot pretended to cough as she squeezed him tight, making her giggle until he bent toward her, his dark eyes shining with carnal passion. He kissed her, a gentle touch, only fitting their lips together, yet the contact sent a powerful thrill through her and stole her breath. As he pulled away, she grabbed his head and brought his face to hers, rolled him over so she lay atop him and they kissed again, a long, languid kiss that set her adrift at sea, carried on undulating waves of desire.

Afterwards, they lay entwined, silent and still, and she stroked his soft and thick hair as he smiled, eyes closed, and drew her tight against his chest, and she too closed her eyes, and at last knew true contentment.

A crash sounded and her eyes snapped open, and her insides withered as the morning light shone through her window and she realised she lay alone in her bed, unable to move, paralysed by a haunting phantasm of loss.

Another crash sounded and she sighed and rose, throwing a dressing gown over her nightclothes to check on the commotion.

She stepped out of her door to be nearly bowled over by Merlin sprinting past her, followed seconds later by her husband, barefoot in sleep clothes. They disappeared around a corner and soon a grunt, thud, ‘Augh!’ and the clang of metal echoed back to her.

“Let go of me you p—“

“ _Merlin_ …”

“Oh, no, we can’t let slip any public insult to your kingly dignity what with you piled on top of me in the middle of the _ow!”_

“Why are you hitting yourself, _Mer_ lin _?”_

“Augh! You—!”

“Come on, _Mer_ lin. Stop hitting yourself, _Mer_ lin _._ ”

Gwen’s vision grew white around the edges as her eyes lost focus while the hall receded into the distance and grew dark. She closed her eyes for a moment before returning to her room; she shut and bolted the door behind her, sat at her window and followed sullen clouds as they drifted across the sky.

***

Arthur pondered his upset goblet with a lump in his throat. Now the wine soaking into the table and spilling onto the floor would never fulfill its destiny, after spending all those years preparing itself for this very day. His chin quivered.

“There, there, sire. It would have just ended up mouldering in your chamber pot anyway.”

Arthur whipped his head around to glare at Merlin’s stupid smirking face. “You don’t know me…”

“No, sire, not at all. Shall his majesty retire for the evening?”

Merlin should get the stocks for the amused tone at his king’s expense. “I’m not drunk, you idiot!”

“Of course not, sire. I’m merely thinking of your exhausting schedule tomorrow. Wouldn’t you rather address the Guild of Rabbit Neuterers on a full night’s sleep?”

“There is no such guild, you silly person.” Merlin was silly.

“Come along, sire.” There he goes with his freakishly strong thing again. Nobody so scrawny should be that strong. Arthur’s chest fluttered as a banished memory escaped, Merlin’s body bared that one morning... Merlin had no right to have a body like that; Merlin was supposed to be comically scrawny – he didn’t like this lithe, defined, surprisingly muscled… whatever, he didn’t care. If that’s what _certain knights_ were into, well, to each his own.

“That’s it sire… mind the stairs.” Arthur rolled his eyes. Mind the stairs! As if he hadn’t been running up and down these stairs since the age of three. He sighed. Well, it was his job to have people help him do things he didn’t need help doing, and it was people’s jobs to help him do things he didn’t need help doing, and it was his job to keep everyone gainfully employed, so perhaps this once he’d lean a little on his manservant – they were both doing their jobs, after all.

“Very good sire, just lay there while I remove the royal boots.” Arthur snorted. Merlin thought him too drunk to notice his patronising and altogether insolent tone. Well, Arthur _did_ notice, so the last laugh was his.

“If that will be all, then, sire…”

Arthur grabbed him by the tunic and dragged him over his body and onto the bed beside him. “No, that is not all. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get rid of me. Everyone always wants to get rid of me so they can have fun without me. I can be fun, there’s no law against having fun with the king.”

“Quite, sire. I assure you I’m having immense quantities of fun right now.”

Arthur tutted. “You think I’m too drunk to detect your sarcasm.” Arthur propped himself on his elbow facing Merlin, who did the same.

Merlin smiled, his expression soft. “Oh, sire, nobody can ever put one past you, can they?”

Arthur spotted a feather of down sticking out of his pillow; he plucked it out and poked it in Merlin’s ear. Merlin batted at his hand. “Hey!” Arthur did it again, and evaded Merlin’s attempt to grab his wrist. He poked him again. “Stop it, you prat!”

What a lovely smile. He’d seen a lot more of it of late, even if it wasn’t aimed at him so much… He’d bet most girls wished they had lips like Merlin’s. He reached and brushed the bottom one with his thumb. It wasn’t fair really, he’d been half asleep when Merlin had kissed him in the cave – the moment ended before he’d even registered the soft touch.

Merlin seemed a lot closer all of a sudden, his eyes wide with alarm. Arthur’s nose brushed his, and Merlin clubbed him over the head. No, wait, that was his head hitting the floor again. If people were going to keep shoving him onto the floor, he would need to install guardrails on the beds.

Merlin poked his head over the side. He shouldn’t screw up his face like that – it wasn’t an attractive look. “You absolute arse! You do this _now_? Now, after all these… You don’t think I know what you’re doing? How can you… Augh! Can you really not stand to see me happy?”

Well, that didn’t seem terribly fair. “Of course I want you to be happy, Mer—”

“Then just let me. Please… just let me. Goodnight, Arthur.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but he had a sense he could have handled it better. Also, who would put him back into bed now? With a sigh, he dropped his head back to the floor. “Ow.”


	16. Chasing Shadows

_“Nealles næs geweoldum wyrmhordan cræft…”_

Incense wafted into the upper reaches of the chamber, joining the smoke of the fire pit and candles to form an impenetrable pall. Dark things whispered from the murky corners of this ancient place with compelling but deceptive voices, calling to them from the forgotten past and futures yet to be. Morgana felt the power thrumming through these sacred precincts, drawn from the depths of the earth, gathering here, commanded to take form by this dangerous ritual; a maelstrom tearing through her body and threatening to sweep her away into oblivion if not for the anchoring force of the circle, standing around the altar, hands joined. 

_“…sylfes willum sé ðe him sáre gesceód ac for þréanédlan…_

Before her on the altar lay the sacrifice, drugged insensate as a mercy. _  
_

_“…þéof náthwylces hæleða bearna heteswengeas fléoh ærnesþearfe…”  
_

A tortured rumbling from beyond the veil shook the cavern. Morgana ignored her pounding heart, ignored the voices; the slightest loss of concentration – the smallest error – would consume them all. She raised the consecrated blade over her head; the very knife she had driven into the heart of her own sister – but she dared not think of this now. 

_“…ond ðaér inne weall secg synbysig sóna onwacade…”_

The rumbling rose to a roar, shaking stones and stalactites crashing to the cavern floor. 

“… _hwæðre fyrensceapense faér begeat· sincfæt sóhte!”_

She plunged the knife into the victim. 

*** 

An icy lance stabbed into Merlin. He dropped the platter he held, but it made no noise when it crashed to the floor; a veil of silence fell over the chamber dampening all sound save a terrible roar, agonised, disembodied, furious… did no one else hear it? The world spun in slow motion; Merlin caught fleeting glimpses of concerned frowns as they flashed past him, and Arthur leapt over the table, eyes wide face distorted as he uttered a silent shout. The room stopped spinning and only the ceiling lay in his field of vision, and he thought he heard someone screaming his name as the world went dark. _Kilgharrah?_

*** 

Merlin basked in the comforting heat the dragon radiated. 

But he seemed… _less_ than normal. His golden eyes burned dim, even his scales lacked their usual lustre. Merlin pushed aside his concern; he needed answers. “What’s happened? Something has caused a terrible disturbance in the fabric of magic. I feel… a sickness, deep inside.” 

“That is the response of your dragonlord nature to what has happened, Merlin. Precisely what that is I cannot say; only that someone has meddled with ancient powers best left to lie forgotten.” 

“This must be Morgana’s doing.” 

“Perhaps. We are approaching a critical juncture, and I cannot see past a great knot in the threads of fate.” 

Merlin frowned at this answer, vague as ever _._ “What should I do?” 

“You have no other choice but to do what you are destined to do.” Kilgharrah’s scales faded to a dusty grey and they shed in an ever-increasing shower of debris.

Merlin took a step back, heart racing in a heavy chest. “And what is that?” 

The dragon’s face grew emaciated as his flesh rotted away. “ _To watch everything you love wither and die, until the end of time.”_ The skeleton that remained roared and bared its terrible teeth. 

Merlin screamed. 

*** 

“Merlin!” Someone seized him and he squirmed to get away, the dragon’s roar still echoing in his head. “Merlin! Everything’s all right!” Percival? Merlin stilled, trembling. Percival had his arm clutched around him, wobbling as he struggled to maintain their precarious balance on Merlin’s tiny bed. 

_What have you done, Morgana?_ Merlin turned in Percival’s arm to face him, grabbed him tight, and buried his face in his chest. “Don’t leave me.”

Percival stroked his hair. “Shhh. I won’t leave you.” 

_Yes, you will._

*** 

_Emrys.  
_

Merlin didn’t realise he’d frozen until Arthur jumped up from his chair, eyes wide. “Merlin? What’s wrong?” 

_Emrys. I must speak with you.  
_

“Err, nothing Arthur, I’m fine. I remembered something I forgot to do for Gaius. Do you mind if I take care of it right now? I’ll only be back only a little late with supper.” 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You just now remembered something so important that you must take care of it immediately.” 

Merlin groaned inside. One would think after ten years he’d have learnt how to speak to Arthur without arousing his suspicions. “Well, not ‘ _so_ important’, but important enough that I don’t want to forget again.” 

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “So then you won’t mind finishing your polishing before you go.” 

_Emrys!  
_

_Fuck!_ “No, I don’t mind…” 

_Have I angered you, Emrys?  
_

_No, not you, it’s the pr… never mind. Just wait a minute.  
_

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind what? Doing your job?” 

“Yes, Arthur, it would be my honour to do my—” 

Arthur dropped his head, lips pressed tight, and made shooing motions. “Never mind, just go.” 

Merlin hated Arthur’s disappointment face, the manipulative bastard. “No, really, I’d very much like to finish my polishing.” 

Arthur shook his head. “No, that will be all, thank you.” 

Arthur’s pratishness activated his stubborn streak. “I must insist that you allow me to finish polishing your arms, sire.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “No, I’ll have George finish the polishing.” 

Merlin crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “I really don’t trust anyone else with the care of your sword.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll polish it myself.” 

Now Merlin narrowed his eyes. “You’ll polish it yourself.” 

“Yes, Merlin, I have been known to polish my own sword.” 

“You’ll go blind if you do that.” 

Arthur shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get out, Merlin.” 

***

The moment the door shut, Arthur sprang into action and rushed to the chest in which he kept a tattered hooded cloak for this very purpose. He slung the cloak over his shoulders, opened his door and checked both ways to make sure the hall was clear before he followed the sound of Merlin’s footsteps, grateful the clumsy oaf was incapable of stealthy movement. _How stupid do you think I am, Merlin? Enough of your secrets._

Arthur raised his hood as soon as he exited the castle and he followed a safe distance behind Merlin. Arthur’s heart rate climbed with his apprehension as Merlin weaved with confident purpose through the narrow streets of the lower town in the dying light of dusk. 

Merlin turned off the road to skip down a staircase that led to a small garden. An ideal development; the eaves of the building adjacent to the garden shielded Arthur from the moonlight as he peered around the corner with a clear view of Merlin, who stood still and alone… until a shadow detached from the dark and resolved into a cloaked figure that glided across the garden to Merlin. Arthur had seen this sort of stealth before. _Druid._ Why would Merlin meet a druid in secret? And even from behind, Arthur detected a difference in Merlin; the awkward oaf had been replaced by a man of commanding posture, like a lord granting audience to a subject. 

And then the druid knelt before Merlin and bowed his head. 

Ice ran through Arthur’s veins. _No. This isn’t happening. It isn’t happening._ Merlin offered his hand and raised the druid to his feet. None of their conversation reached Arthur – were they even talking? What was going on between them? 

Merlin stiffened and spun in Arthur’s direction. Arthur jerked away from the corner and plastered himself to the wall, eyes squeezed shut, hyperventilating and his heart thumping out of his chest. What was wrong with him? Afraid of Merlin? _Get a grip, Arthur._ Shaking his head, he slipped away to head back to the castle with a heavy weight in his chest. 

*** 

Merlin wouldn’t betray him. There must be a reason for this. He couldn’t imagine what that reason could possibly be, but he had to believe Merlin had one… but how many times would he have this conversation with himself? 

Merlin’s familiar footsteps shuffled toward his chambers and Arthur stuffed his anxieties with the rest of them into his worry warehouse. He would soon need to add an annex. Merlin entered with supper and stopped short inside the door, a black silhouette against the torchlight of the hall. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?” _  
_

“Nothing. Thinking.”

Merlin set the tray on the table and puttered around lighting candles and lamps. “Thinking? We’ve talked about this, Arthur. We don’t want you to sprain anything.” 

Arthur didn’t respond; instead, he studied Merlin as he worked. Noticing the silence, Merlin stopped and found his gaze, frowning. “Arthur, are you well? Do you need Gaius?”

“Do you trust me, Merlin?” Arthur thought he detected a momentary flash of fear in Merlin's eyes before he answered.

“Not to hit me all the time? No." Arthur offered no reaction to the lame attempt at a quip, and Merlin fidgeted. "I do, Arthur, with my life.” 

“You lie to me.” 

Merlin gave him a sheepish shrug, but Arthur could almost see the wheels turning. "We all tell small lies to stay out of trouble." 

"And you keep secrets from me." 

Merlin didn’t hesitate this time, and he even managed a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Of _course_ I do. You’re my master, and the king. You must expect _some_ boundaries.” 

Arthur broke eye contact and sighed. “And yet I don’t believe I have any secrets from you.” And now, he expected, Merlin would once again employ banter to distract him from an uncomfortable subject. 

Merlin crossed his arms. “Really? When was the last time you had a wank, and who were you thinking of?” 

Arthur reddened, caught off guard. “Merlin! How _dare_ —” 

“Me, it was just before I went to get your supper. I was fantasising about getting a spank—” 

“Stop! Good God, make it stop." Arthur sighed; he didn’t think he had much chance of getting anything out of Merlin tonight and now hadn’t the spirit to try, afraid of what he might discover if he pushed Merlin hard for the truth. He watched Merlin arrange his meal, smirking at his apparent success in sidetracking the conversation. "Wait, you washed your hands afterwards, right?”

“If you say so, sire.” 

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. “Get out, Merlin.” 

*** 

_... Ahead loomed a circle of great standing stones, and in the middle stood a man, his face hidden in shadow, and at the sight of him a sudden awareness struck Arthur cold to the core. The man reached toward him and Arthur wanted to scream, hide. Arthur’s ring burned white hot, seared his flesh; he tried to pull it off but the effort made him lose his balance and he fell, plummeting to the rocky ground far below as someone called his name.  
_

_“Arthur.” His body shook, in the grip of a powerful force._

“Arthur! Wake up!”

Arthur snapped awake and scrambled away, wide-eyed and heart pounding, trembling at the sight of Merlin, whose goofy grin faded into a look of concern. 

“Arthur? Are you alright?” 

Arthur turned his head aside to compose himself and shore up his defenses. “I’m fine.” 

He felt Merlin’s eyes boring into him for a moment before he turned to his morning chores, his chatter buzzing in the background while Arthur struggled to put his finger on something he ought to remember but which eluded him, hovering at the edge of his consciousness. He let himself be fed and dressed in dazed silence, until he tensed and his breathing became louder as a spark of anger ignited, and as Merlin gossiped and fussed as if nothing had happened yesterday, he grew angrier and angrier, flushed with heat and grinding his teeth until the words burst out. “I followed you last night.” 

Merlin froze, his hands on Arthur’s chest in the act of fastening a button – Arthur hoped Merlin wouldn’t recognise his fear in his rapid heartbeat. Merlin must realise he couldn’t pretend Arthur hadn’t seen what he’d seen – so Arthur would either get the truth of some sort or… 

“Oh?” Merlin’s tried to sound casual, but his voice shook, as did his hands – and he kept his eyes on Arthur’s buttons. Arthur said nothing and waited; Merlin abhorred a vacuum. Merlin dropped his hands and his shoulders slumped. “I went to meet a druid.” 

Arthur all but jumped in surprise at the honest answer. “You _lied_ to me to go meet a druid.” 

Merlin sighed and raised his eyes. “Yes, Arthur, I lied to you to go meet a druid. If I had told you the truth, you would have stopped me, and it was important.”

“You’re damned right I would have stopped you! What possible reason could you have to meet with a druid?” Arthur felt his control slipping, heart pounding in his ears and his muscles strained as a rage built. _  
_

“The druids travel far and wide, and they see and hear things nobody else does. I met the druid to get information – for you, Arthur, to help you.”

Merlin had turned ashen, his shoulders tight and his voice not much more than a whisper, but he held his ground and Arthur detected no hint of deception in his words or face. His rage subsided, but still plenty angry, his next words came out suffused with suppressed emotion. 

“That isn’t your job, and you will never do it again. You are not to keep putting yourself in danger like this.” 

“Arthur, the druids are a peaceful people – I wasn’t in any danger…” 

“The druids use magic and they cannot be trusted.”

Merlin’s face grew stony, his lips pressed tight. “Not all druids use magic, and even if they did, would you really refuse help from them, freely offered? Would you cast aside willing allies? You said the druids would be given the respect they deserve – I apologise if I took you at your word.” 

Exhaustion swept through Arthur, as if he’d spent a day trying to plug innumerable holes in a dam before giving it up as hopeless, ready to surrender to the onrushing flood. “Merlin, that was before Morgana’s war against me. You don’t know where their loyalties—” 

Merlin flushed, eyes burning and fists clenched. “Stop treating me like a fool. I know the limits of trust and the difference between useful information and deception. If you put no faith in my judgment then you should take your bloody seat back!”

Arthur remembered his father crushing the mortaeus flower in his fist; an apt metaphor for what Merlin had just done with his heart. “Get out.” 

“Arthur…” 

Merlin’s contrite tone did nothing to crack Arthur’s icy severity. “Go.”

Merlin dropped to his knees at his feet and Arthur suppressed a gasp; in all their years together Merlin had never placed himself in such a submissive position. 

Merlin’s eyes glistened as he pleaded. “Please don’t send me away. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It’s the greatest honour I ever… that you could give me – it means everything to me. I’m so sorry – I had no right to get angry, I went behind your back, I should have told you – I should have brought you with me, I was just afraid it would be a waste of time and you’d think me a fool...” 

This astonishing display kicked up a cloud of emotions in Arthur; giving Merlin his seat had meant everything to _Arthur_ , and having this thrown back in his face hurt, but he didn’t doubt the sincerity of Merlin’s abject apology. Still, he couldn’t help but sense other layers to Merlin’s reaction – perhaps guilt over all the secrets he still harboured? “The druid knelt before you. Like you were his king.”

Merlin turned red. “Ah. Yes. I don’t know why he did that – it was rather embarrassing, really. I guess because I’m your manservant he thought I was a lord or something.” 

A reasonable explanation – but was it the truth? _Will you ever trust me, Merlin? Am I destroying myself with the trust I place in you?_ “Did he give you anything useful?” 

“He said Morgana and her followers had committed some sort of abomination and that we should prepare for the worst. He couldn’t be more specific.” 

Well that wouldn’t be too hard. It had been a long time since Arthur had been prepared for anything but the worst. 

*** 

Careful to hold his head high and steady, Arthur risked a glance at Leon, who betrayed his anxiety with his unblinking and darting eyes, something too subtle for anyone but Arthur to catch. His ever-worried and ever-vigilant first knight kept a casual hand on his sword hilt, as if merely resting it there for no apparent reason, as he escorted their visitor to the dais. 

Merlin stood to the right of the throne, hands folded behind his back, standing straight and utterly still for once (other than the distracting way he wrung his fingers), looking… well, not exactly _handsome_ , or _regal,_ but Arthur had to admit his court clothes suited him well, particularly the way they molded to his body, which caught Arthur’s attention only in the most clinical sense, that of a king making sure his court presented its best face to the outside world. 

As the druid reached them, Arthur thought he detected a slight stiffness to his posture; his eyes were perhaps a bit wide, and his skin wan – anxious? Afraid of Arthur? Naturally Arthur was aware of how intimidating he could be, but he’d encountered druids before, and with their easy, haughty pride, they’d never reacted to him this way before… odd. 

The druid genuflected with his head bowed, a rather surprising and extreme display of deference, and Merlin’s nervous fingers stilled. This would not do at all; he’d get little out of a man this afraid. Arthur needed to set him at ease. “Please, rise.” The druid paused, appeared to stare at Merlin’s boot for a moment, and rose, keeping his eyes averted. Arthur gestured to the guards. “Leave us.” Leon stiffened at Arthur’s disregard for his own safety, but this gesture of trust induced the druid to meet his gaze. 

The druid nodded with a subtle smile. “I have come in response to my lord’s summons. On behalf of―” 

“Please – let us not be formal. This is not an official occasion – I merely wish to ask for your counsel.” 

The druid frowned, thrown off by the clearly unexpected statement, and nodded again. “I am at his majesty’s disposal.” 

Arthur considered several strategies, but decided he might get the best result from bluntness and shock. “Who is Emrys?” The druid’s head shot up, eyes wide. Had Arthur been _too_ blunt? Still, if he got nothing else, he had already gained intelligence – judging by his reaction, this man knew of Emrys, and his surprise at Arthur’s question suggested he hadn’t expected Arthur to. 

“My lord?” 

“I have heard of a man called Emrys, and I know Morgana fears him. This is a druid name, and I had hoped the druids would have knowledge of him.” 

Some of the tension drained from the druid, and he paused as if collecting his thoughts. He nodded, and spoke in a measured and drama-laden voice one might use for bad poetry. “I know of Emrys. He looms large in the visions of our seers.” 

Hocus pocus. Yet Merlin was right – the druids travelled far and wide, and superstitious nonsense aside, they heard many things. “Why? What is his importance to you?”

“Emrys has come to us to unite the powers of the old world and the new; his magic commands the heavens and the earth, the seas and flames; he is the servant of Albion and Her One True King; he is the spark that lights our way through the darkness.” 

Arthur suppressed an eye-roll at this maudlin claptrap. “He’s a sorcerer?”

“He is no mere sorcerer; his is the most powerful magic any man has ever possessed. He is magic incarnate.”

Arthur would admit this man had a way with words, but frankly, this all sounded a bit rehearsed. “And who is Albion’s One True King?”

“He is the king of prophesy that will unite the land, return magic to its proper place, and usher in a golden age that will be a beacon of hope to the men of all ages.”

 _Good lord._ “Where can I find this Emrys?” 

“Emrys will reveal himself when he is ready.” 

Was there some school somewhere teaching these magic types how to speak in vague and ominous sentences? All he really got from this conversation was confirmation that Emrys was a sorcerer, and an extremely powerful one at that – which he had already assumed, given Morgana feared him. But if Morgana feared his power, didn’t that make him even more dangerous than she was? And why did Emrys oppose her? So he could take Camelot for himself? If the druids believed Emrys was protecting Arthur, did that mean they though Arthur was this ‘One True King’? Far-fetched, yet useful if it meant he could leverage this belief to gain loyalty or at least indifference from the druids. 

“I am grateful for your counsel in this matter. I hope this is another step in building a lasting trust between us.” Arthur nodded in dismissal, and with a smile, the druid bowed, took three steps back, turned and left the chamber trailing Leon behind him. 

Arthur sighed, sure he knew less now than he did before. Merlin turned to face him and gave him that distracting proud smile of his; yet for an instant Arthur had caught something else in his eyes – a fierce and steely strength that Arthur longed to lean on but dared not, a power that set an alarm ringing somewhere deep inside him that grew harder to ignore with each passing day. “Did your druid talk like that too?” 

Merlin shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longer incantations in this and subsequent chapters are taken from Beowulf, sometimes with proper nouns replaced.


	17. Departures

Percival gave Merlin’s thigh a squeeze under the table, a promise of more after the banquet. Merlin stiffened in anticipation and Percival extended his little finger to massage his length, sending a wave of heat through him; he shut his eyes and exhaled a stuttered sigh and curled his foot around Percival’s calf. They smiled at each other, Merlin blushing, until for an instant Percival twisted his face into his “I will rape and murder you” sneer and Merlin burst out in laughter.

He glanced in Arthur’s direction and met bright and cold eyes set in a stony face. Arthur snatched his goblet and rose, prompting everyone else to do the same. “I would like to propose a toast: To the incomparable beauty of our queen!”

Shouts of “The queen!” and “Here, here!” followed, and Gwen blushed as she made frantic eye gestures in an effort to get the king to sit back down. After taking a sip, Arthur set down his goblet, took Gwen’s hand and raised her to her feet, grabbed her around the waist and kissed her – long and with inappropriate passion, but the diners registered no disapproval, cheering them on with dutiful gaiety.

Arthur’s behaviour stunned Merlin, left him breathless like he’d been punched in the stomach. Arthur did this to prove a point and it worked. Merlin tore his gaze away at the same time Percival did and their eyes met; Percival gave him a sad smile and squeezed his hand.

Merlin sighed. “Why are you so understanding? I don’t deserve you.”

Percival nodded in agreement. “You did really luck out.”

***

"…these border raids have become more than a nuisance…". Merlin stood in the rear of the armoury after practice as Arthur addressed the knights, with Percival close behind him in his unfastened sleeveless gambeson. Merlin rather enjoyed this time, after the knights had removed their armour and milled around in various states of undress, their muscles glistening and the room bathed in an intense smell of men. Percival's heat pulled at him like a fishing line.

"…and have grown more brazen and systematic, leading us to believe that…"

Unnoticed, Percival reached under Merlin’s tunic and laid his hand on his bare skin and Merlin let out a surprised gasp as his fingers were cold from handing metal. A handful of nearby knights glanced back at their studiously innocent faces and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"…leading us to believe that these are probes of our defenses, to determine our strength,…"

Percival caressed the smooth skin of his lower back, before sliding his hand still lower. Merlin smiled at the promise implied by Percival’s finger tracing his rear.

"…throw us off balance, and tempt us to disperse our forces to respond. In light of this…"

With no warning, Percival thrust the finger into Merlin, making him squeak. Rather more knights turned around to study their still studiously innocent faces.

"IN LIGHT OF THIS, we're dispatching a sizable force to the town of Llanfair…"

Percival now fingered him at a leisurely pace. He gasped, suppressing a squeal and darted his glance around the chamber; nobody stood at an angle to give a view of Percival’s outrageous behaviour, but Arthur stood with a clear line of sight to Merlin…

"…where our men will be in a position to respond in force to raids…"

Merlin crossed his hands in front of him to hide the tent in his trousers. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead.

"…and be strong enough to retreat in order from a larger force…"

Merlin’s mouth hung open, his forehead furled. Arthur now spoke through clenched teeth.

"…while still being close enough to quickly recall to Camelot if required."

Merlin stopped listening, allocating whatever concentration he had to spare towards remaining as silent as possible, though doing this with Arthur watching aroused his dark side, as did the realisation Percival was doing this to retaliate on Merlin’s behalf for the kiss at the banquet. He was getting close now; he stood on his toes with his legs flexed and sweat soaked his back.

Leon joined Arthur. "Sir Leon will be organising and leading this expeditionary force—"

Merlin came in his trousers with a shudder and a choked exhalation.

"ARE you quite alright back there MERLIN."

 _All_ the knights stared back at them with an array of puzzled expressions. Arthur’s red and livid face contrasted with Leon’s pale and traumatised expression.

"Y-yes…" the word came out high-pitched and broken. "…yes, sire, never better."

Arthur glared for a moment and continued his briefing, to which Merlin didn't pay the slightest attention as he revelled in the afterglow, the warm wetness in his trousers and the sensation of Percival's finger, still filling him. He leaned back and rested his upper back against Percival's chest and, feeling brave and eager to reciprocate for Percival, reached behind with his hand to run his thumb up and down Percival's length through his trousers. He had raging butterflies thinking about what Percival would be doing to him once the briefing ended.

The knights’ cheers startled him as Arthur concluded and they both jerked their hands free as the troops filed out.

"Sir Percival, _Merlin_ , please remain."

 _Shit._ Heads hanging and blushing, they approached Arthur like two boys caught by their mother raiding the pantry.

Only a slight furling of his forehead disturbed Arthur’s stony expression. “Merlin, I’m sending you on a mission – I need you to deliver a message to Lord Cynon. You’ll be leaving immediately.”

Merlin’s eyes widened and he touched fingers to his parted lips. Did Arthur want to send Merlin away from him? To punish him? “Er, why me?”

Arthur gave him a grim smile. “Because you’re the only one I can trust with this, and no one would have a better chance at persuading Cynon to do as I ask.”

Merlin’s face broke into a bright grin and he pulled himself to his full height, stupidly proud that Arthur held him in such confidence.

“I will give you a message to memorise. Percival, you will accompany Merlin as his bodyguard.” Arthur hesitated for an instant before that last word. “I’m hoping Morgana won’t bother with two men travelling alone, but at the first sign of trouble, you are to abort the mission and return home. No foolish bravery. I can’t afford to lose either of you.”

With a solemn expression, Percival clasped Arthur’s wrist and Merlin flinched wide-eyed to see he’d done it with the hand he’d just used to violate Merlin. Percival’s face betrayed nothing of his impishness. “I’m honoured, sire. I will protect him with my life.”

Arthur nodded, and they both bowed their heads before heading for the exit.

“And gentlemen…” Merlin winced – sooo close – that had seemed far too easy. “…perhaps you could work through your… fervour… on the road, so that you might afford a greater degree of dignity to your public appearances.”

Both of them managed to maintain their composure until out of hearing range, to burst out in laughter and race each other to Percival’s chambers to work through their fervour as many times as possible before their departure.

***

Ifor laid a gentle hand on Morgana’s forearm, but she flung off his irritating solicitude and gave him an angry scowl causing him to back off. “Morgana, we cannot afford to do something so reckless and unnecessary. I beg you to reconsider.”

Morgana snorted. If Ifor had his way they’d never do anything. “You heard her.” She pointed to Angharad. “If she can’t find Alvarr it’s because he’s dead.”

“Alvarr was always expendable.”

Morgana gritted her teeth, exasperated. “Yes Ifor, Alvarr was expendable. I don’t care about Alvarr. What I do care about is that he failed. Whatever his flaws, he should have been more than a match for Merlin. Either Merlin is more than he seems, or Emrys is protecting him too.”

Ifor inclined his head. “Perhaps, but Merlin lives with Gaius, does he not?”

Morgana frowned as an involuntary memory scuttled through her head of the kindly old man bandaging a knee scrape with tender care, wiping a tear from her face and giving her a gentle stroke of her hair and a sweet out of the box he kept just for her. Another betrayal. “Gaius? Are you serious? That old fool couldn’t defeat a cockroach, let alone a sorcerer and warrior like Alvarr.”

Ifor snapped his head up with a sterner expression than any Morgana remembered. “Do not make the mistake of underestimating Gaius, Morgana. He may be old and his power middling, but his knowledge is vast. Before the Purge I studied at his feet and we might wonder who instructed Merlin.”

Sadness for everything she’d lost warred in Morgana with fury over cowardly treachery from people who had pretended to care for her. All those years, Gaius and Merlin had been aware of the truth about her magic and concealed this from her. She had though Merlin her friend – he should have helped her, protected her, but instead… “I want him dead, _now_.”

Suall arranged the sacrifice on the altar and Morgana mounted the dais.

“Morgana, please listen to me. He’s already as good as dead. You cannot continue to throw open doors so heedless of what comes through.”

 _Yes I can._ She raised the dagger over her head. _“Bebiede þe arisan ealdu, swa thaet ic maeg min faehth awrecan! Swilte ar ond calan, drædan morðor._ _Ṹ_ _prærest wærc, Barghest, gebiede ic þone feorhberend þære ealdaþ!”  
_

She plunged the dagger into the heart of the victim. For a moment, deathly silence reigned – but soon the sound of a rattling chain echoed through the chamber and the council backed away from the noise as Morgana advanced.

Two red points of light appeared in the dark; a deep growl raised the hairs on Morgana’s arms and produced gasps behind her… and from the shadows emerged a terrible head, with eyes of fire, enormous fangs dripping with stalactites of saliva that hissed when they struck the ground. The creature's massive claws scraped the flagstones, its fur formed of tendrils of shadow, its form indistinct, resembling a gigantic dog made of the fabric of night.

As the monster approached her, Morgana withdrew a cloth from a pocket with a trembling hand; a blue neckerchief, taken from Merlin those years ago in her hovel when she held him prisoner, had _healed_ him. She held the kerchief outstretched toward the barghest with her trembling arm.

The creature sniffed at the neckerchief, and with a snarling howl so terrifying that Morgana nearly wet herself, the nightmare bounded back into the dark and only a distant rattle of chain remained before this too faded.

***

Merlin raced down the incline, sure his lungs would burst into flame and his heart explode; his legs had numbed with exertion, his endurance reached its end, yet still he ran – he had no choice. His pursuer, whose footfalls thundered ever closer behind him would show him no mercy, no quarter, would not bargain with him.

The sudden absence of those heavy strides meant a pounce; Merlin cringed, his insides falling. He grunted as a massive weight slammed into his back and he tumbled to the ground, his momentum sending him and his attacker rolling over each other down the gentle slope until they came to a rest, and Merlin fought for his life with futile ferocity. “No! Please, no! Stop.”

His attacker needed only seconds to pin him helpless. “You shouldn’t’ve made me chase you. I was only going to wring your neck, but now you’ll pay.” His lascivious once-over of Merlin’s body made his intentions clear.

“Please, I beg you. I’m sorry I ran, I’m sorry! I’ll give you anything you want!”

The man’s face twisted into a chilling sneer. “Aye, that you will.”

He sat astride Merlin and tore at his clothing. Merlin cried out, thrashed, kicked, punched, spat at his attacker. “No! No!” He screamed and sobbed, over and over.

“My God, Merlin, do you want me to stop?”

Merlin slapped Percival across the face. “You ruined it, you fool!”

Percival raised his hand to his cheek, his mouth and eyes wide, but soon his face resolved into a sinister smile. “You should not have hit me. Now you must face the wrath…” He glared at Merlin sideways, teeth bared and hands raised like claws, “… of Tickle Monster!”

“No, Percival, no, I really don’t want that. No! Fuck! Augh! You son-of-a… Stop! I mean it, stop!”

A dreadful, unearthly howl froze them both in place. Percival jumped off Merlin and lifted him to his feet. “What was that?” They scanned the darkening horizon.

Merlin already sensed its terrible power, hurling toward them at great speed. “I don’t know but we need to run.” Chilling screams reached them from the horses, left in the direction from which whatever hunted them came. An escarpment lay ahead; if they could reach it, with luck they’d find a cave to escape into. Merlin tugged at Percival’s tunic. “This way!”

They sprinted off, but before long Merlin realised he’d underestimated the distance; with nothing like Percival’s speed and endurance and already huffing and wheezing, he’d never make it. “Percival… I can’t…”

Percival turned, seized him, hefted him over his shoulder and charged on. Merlin winced as his abdomen slammed into Percival’s shoulder with every long stride. Merlin’s heart sank; there seemed little chance they’d get out of this without magic. He muttered a spell to call the elements while he had the chance. _“Céneu hréohnes hraðe cume!”  
_

Percival came to an abrupt halt and set Merlin down at the foot of the escarpment. He turned and gaped, and Merlin spun to follow his gaze to the sky; in response to Merlin’s summons a black mass of clouds rolled in with unnatural speed like a massive wave rushing onshore.

Merlin grabbed Percival’s arm. “Percival, hurry! We need to find shelter!” But a growl no earthy creature could produce signalled time had run out.

Their doom emerged from the shadows – a monstrous and demonic dog, perhaps a hundred feet away, no more than a handful of bounds for something so huge. Percival drew his sword, “Merlin, run! I’ll hold it off.”

The creature sniffed for a moment and turned its flaming eyes on Merlin. _It’s after me. Percival will die because of me._ He wouldn’t allow it. He stepped in front of Percival. “Stay back.”

Percival grabbed him and shoved him behind his body. “Are you mad? Run!” The creature took a pace forward, teeth bared and growling.

It had come to this; all his hiding, all his lies and betrayals, all his poor decisions had led him to this moment. Trapped, no other way remained – no one else would die because of his cowardice.

He used magic to push Percival behind him; mouth agape and his body stiff, Percival's huge and wild eyes met Merlin's, surely burning gold. Merlin would like to think this reaction was fear of the monster, but his crumbling heart knew the only monster Percival saw was Merlin. Tears blurred Merlin’s vision and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He turned to face the beast and raised a hand to the sky at the moment it sprang. _“Ic bíede heofonfýr!”_ Lightning struck his upraised arm and he channelled the energy with his other to blast the monstrous hound mid-leap, sending it hurling back with a yelp, but it soon righted itself and charged. He drew another bolt of lightning from the sky and struck the beast a second time – again it yelped, but this time it stood its ground before commencing a slow advance towards them.

Merlin called the lightning to him in a steady torrent of strikes. The immense power flowing through him felt like nothing he’d experienced; his magic sang within him, fuelled by the fire from the heavens, and he blasted at the creature in continuous and multiple arcs of lightning. But this only slowed it, and it continued to advance as if struggling against a violent wind; it would reach them before long if he didn’t come up with something.

The creature’s strange, alien magic reminded him of the manticore, which couldn’t exist outside its own dimension for long, and he wondered if the same applied to this creature. Kilgharrah had told him of the thread tying him to his own time – so did the monster have a thread tying it to its own dimension? He didn’t have the crystal, but now that it had shown him what to look for he didn’t need it.

The creature needed only seconds to reach them; he put away his fear, expanded his senses and concentrated… He soon found it – just like what had bound him to his own time, a silver cord bound the monster to its own plane.

The monster crouched mere feet away – vibrating with malice, emitting a deafening screeching roar as it prepared to snatch Merlin into its jaws. “ _Adee þas sawle duru!_ ”

The creature flew backwards as if yanked from behind and shadows leapt to eddy around it like a whirlpool. The monstrous beast howled and clawed at the ground making a desperate effort to reach Merlin, but soon sank into the maelstrom and was gone.

Merlin sighed in relief and slumped in exhaustion – but he had not yet endured the worst. He turned to face Percival and stopped short at the sword inches from his throat.

 _“Who are you?”_ Percival’s wide eyes danced mad with fear, but his sword arm remained steady.

“It’s me, Percival. It’s Merlin.” Percival didn’t budge. “The code phrase is ‘Merlin is a girl’s petticoat.’ See? It’s really me.”

Percival’s sword slid a couple of inches lower. Merlin mustered a vulnerable smile and gently pushed the sword aside with the back of his hand. But residual lightning still charged his body and this sent a painful shock through Percival; he jerked and his sword stabbed into Merlin’s neck.

Merlin stumbled backward and fell; he raised his hand to the wound and blood trickled down his wrist.

Percival backed away from him. “You stay away from me.” His cold voice stabbed into Merlin, but even worse, his eyes held the flint that warriors turned against the enemy in battle.

Merlin’s world crashed to an end. A grief he’d never had to face before washed over him – to lose everything and everyone, to have nowhere to go. To witness love turn into hate. Tears choked his voice. “Please, Percival, I’m sorry, it was an accident – I would never harm you. Don’t leave.”

Percival continued to back away shaking his head, before he turned and ran off.

Merlin removed his kerchief and pressed it to his neck, staggered to his feet and stumbled in the direction of the horses. Cold crept through him; the last sunlight had faded and clouds covered the sky, leaving him in almost pitch darkness. Growing dizzy, he stumbled and fell, and laying on his back staring at the sky, his mind wandered through all the decisions he’d made and how they had led him here.

Lost in his desolation he’d neglected his injury, and consciousness slipped away from him like sand through his fingers. “ _Ic þe…”_ He’d waited too long – he hadn’t the strength or concentration. How strange that is should all end like this.

“Arthur…”

***

Arthur lay in bed watching Merlin as he crouched to stir the fire, presenting his profile, and Arthur thought to himself that if he were to paint Merlin white, he’d be a Roman statue, like the bust of some forgotten emperor he’d seen at the palace in Nemeth.

Merlin finished and came to kneel by the bed and rested his forearms on the edge, and gave Arthur a warm smile. “I have to go now.”

A terrible sense of loss and loneliness welled up in Arthur and threatened to choke him. “To where?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“When will you be back?”

Merlin shrugged. “I can’t say.”

Arthur shook his head, his voice breaking. “But without you I don't even know who I am.”

Merlin gave him an amused quizzical look. “The king, silly!”

Arthur grabbed his hand. “Will you at least stay through the night?”

Merlin gave him a sad smile. “I’ll stay for as long as I can.”

Arthur threw back the covers and Merlin climbed in. Arthur drew Merlin’s body against his, front to back, and they clasped their hands over Merlin’s heart. Arthur squeezed him tight in his embrace, kissed the back of his head. "You will never know how much I love you."

"That's because you never told me."

Arthur woke to the desolate grey light of the moon, and he had never felt more alone.

***

Merlin gasped awake, squinted in the bright warm light of morning. How long had he been unconscious? He sat up, ran his fingers over his neck. Healed? He felt fine – well-rested, no pain… and had he wandered farther than he thought? He sat in a beautiful glade, abounding in wildflowers of bright, enamelled hues embossed by the brilliant sun, their perfume fanned by a gentle breeze over the grasses through sweet and pure air; in fact his surroundings were so stunning it almost seemed to be an idealised version of a glade.

He grew uneasy, a realisation flitting about him, just out of reach. He pulled at his tunic – no blood. What was going on, and where—

“Hello, Merlin.”

Merlin froze and a chill ran through him, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The greeting came from directly behind him, and well he knew the smooth and gentle voice he’d never thought to hear again, radiating a love that filled him with warmth and longing – and the realisation hit home. He turned to face him.

“Lancelot?”


	18. Quest

_Percival went cold with stomach-turning vertigo as his body lifted off the ground._

Percival sat rocking back and forth on a boulder in the dark, his head in his hands, a crushing pain in his chest as his world fell apart. _This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening._ But this _was_ happening.

_Merlin turned to face him; the unnatural storm clouds darkening the sky left only his eyes visible, shining gold, inhuman._

There was no escaping the truth: Merlin was a sorcerer. Percival had loved a sorcerer. He’d shared his bed with a sorcerer, a traitor, who’d hidden from them and lied to them all for so many years. Is this how Morgana had been able to keep tracking down the king?

_This wasn’t Merlin, this couldn’t be Merlin – this was a sorcerer taking Merlin’s form._

Every breath Percival took stabbed like a knife plunged into his chest. He recognised this pain; he was grieving a death – the death of a Merlin that never was. Had Percival’s feelings for him even been love, or had he been controlled by Merlin’s magic?

No, he’d experienced being controlled. Lamia had taken parts of Percival she could use and twisted them; his protectiveness became obsessive and paranoid. With Merlin, he never felt like a different person. Yet he’d loved a sorcerer.

_The shattered, pleading look on Merlin’s face as blood streamed from his wound._

And stabbed and abandoned him.

_The shattered, pleading look on Merlin’s face.  
_

He had struggled with and accepted that Merlin loved Arthur above him, and Percival had learnt to live with this ache – but this was complex and _real_ , not an illusion.

_The shattered, pleading look on Merlin’s face._

Merlin had been in Camelot for a decade. If he meant harm, wouldn’t he have done something by now? He fought for Arthur’s throne twice and everyone knew who’d given Arthur the spirit to prevail.

_The shattered, pleading look on Merlin’s face._

They never lost a fight when they had Merlin with them – or at the least, they had a miraculous escape. Merlin did more than lead that sorcerer and his men away from Arthur – that’s why they never pursued, were never seen again. The last fight, the lucky explosion hadn’t been caused by an enemy sorcerer. And Merlin had protected him from the demon hound – had shielded Percival with magic and his body. _  
_

_Blood streamed from his wound.  
_

He’d seen the surprise on Merlin’s face when his touch jolted Percival. As a child, he used to rub wool and touch someone to give them a shock. Merlin’s touch had been like that but much worse – maybe having the lightning in him had done the same thing.

_The shattered, pleading look on Merlin’s face as blood streamed from his wound._

Percival had stabbed him. It had been an accident, but Merlin had begged Percival not to leave him and instead he’d abandoned him.

_…Please watch over Merlin for me. He’s much stronger than anyone knows, but he cares only for others and never himself, and his life is more precious than you can begin to imagine.  
_

_Lancelot knew._ Lancelot had known, and loved and trusted Merlin anyway, and had sworn Percival to protect him. Instead, he’d abandoned him, betrayed Merlin and Lancelot both, again.

He had to go back. By now his eyes had adjusted to the dark; the faint moonlight penetrating the thinning clouds should give him enough visibility to find his way, but hours had passed – what would he find?

He ran, sprinted; unseen rocks dug into his heels, branches scored his face, his boots sank into puddles and streams and mud, but as if the earth herself cleared his path, he flew across the landscape, never once losing his footing. He tapped unknown wells of endurance, drawn by the image burned into his mind:

_The shattered, pleading look on Merlin’s face as blood streamed from his wound._

Foulness lit the spot like a bonfire – an unnatural chill, a lingering vibration of wrongness, the acrid odour of burnt flesh and fur… the metallic scent of blood.

A broad stripe of burnt grass scored by lightning terminated where the monster had begun its attack. Shaking with trepidation and the adrenaline coursing through him, he forced his unwilling eyes to follow the stripe to where Merlin would lie.

He was gone.

He staggered over to the spot and dropped to his knees, his painful dread unrelieved; a fraying thread of hope survived, but he feared the grisly and shattering discovery had only been delayed. He touched the ground; his fingers came up bloody.

He had no trouble following the trail; a path of flattened grass ran parallel to the one they’d made as they ran. A hopeful sign – Merlin had been aware enough to head toward the horses. But all too soon, the trail came to an abrupt end. Even the pale moonlight sufficed to reveal the dark stain of blood in the middle of an area of flattened grass. Where was Merlin? A scrap of black cloth lay on the ground. He stooped to pick it up – not black, Merlin’s blood-soaked kerchief. Beyond lay an even larger area of flattened grass – only something massive could have caused this.

He circled the area of flattened grass, spiralling outward, searching in near-hysterical desperation, possessed by the image of the demon beast snatching Merlin into its jaws and shaking him like a dog with its prey.

No Merlin. He dropped to his knees, screaming inside, trapped between impossible alternatives – wait until morning, while Merlin lay bleeding somewhere, or search now, when he might pass within feet of Merlin and miss him. He pressed his clenched fists over his eyes and his insides constricted until he grew dazed with lack of air.

He had to pull himself together – he couldn’t help Merlin if he snapped. He made his way back to the horses, relieved they hadn’t broken free and run off, found the flint and torches, returned to the site and searched until dawn and for all of the next day.

As the sun set he collapsed in exhaustion, numb, defeated, whatever emotional energy he possessed drained after so many hours of fruitless searching in anguished panic. He found no further sign of Merlin, and he had no idea what to do.

What would Lancelot do? He’d tell Percival to list the possibilities, eliminate the improbable, discard what he could do nothing about, and determine a course of action from what remained. So:

Merlin left the immediate area but may return. Very unlikely, given how Percival had treated him.

Merlin returned to Camelot. Possible, but he may be afraid to go there.

Merlin went on to Cynon’s castle. Possible, but Camelot is much closer.

Merlin fled the kingdom.

He couldn’t bear to consider the one other possibility.

The best course of action would be to return to Camelot; if Merlin hadn’t returned, Percival would send word to Cynon, and he would search all of Albion if necessary.

He knew it was an irrational hope, but he decided he’d stay put and wait one more day, just in case.

***

He reached Camelot in the late afternoon, or so he guessed from where the overcast and drizzling sky glowed brightest.

Arthur stood at the entrance to the palace with Gwen, Gaius, Gwaine, Leon, Bors and a handful of other knights as Percival rode into the courtyard, no doubt alerted by the watch as he entered the city. By the time he dismounted, Arthur had descended the staircase and charged halfway to meet him as the others trickled after him.

The king approached, his eyes darting about, searching. “Where’s Merlin?”

The question fell like the axe; Merlin hadn’t returned to Camelot and Percival’s last real hope dropped into the basket like a severed head.

Percival bowed his head. “Sire, I regret to report I’ve lost him.”

The king maintained a stony and regal expression, but his body tensed and Percival caught the struggle for control in the Arthur’s voice. “You lost him. You mean he’s—”

Percival’s eyes shot to Arthur’s and he cut in, unwilling to hear the word spoken. “I don’t know, sire.”

Arthur searched Percival’s eyes for an answer he didn’t have. “I don’t understand.”

Percival hung his head. “We were attacked. We separated, and I couldn’t find him. I searched day and night. I couldn’t find him.”

Now glaring, Arthur clenched his fists, raised his voice. “What aren’t you telling me? Who attacked? How were you separated? What happened to the attackers?”

Percival had no way to answer without exposing Merlin, so he said nothing.

“Speak!”

Percival held his silence, trembling, torn in half by incompatible loyalties.

Arthur took a deep breath and sighed. “Whatever it is, Percival, just tell me.”

Percival still did not answer, a painful lump in his throat. Now he defied his king. He had completed his betrayal of everything he believed in, everyone he loved.

Arthur dragged his hands down his face, his stare now pained. “Will you answer if I order you to?”

Percival shut his eyes. “I beg you, ask me no more. I swear to you, my silence hides no threat to Camelot or the Crown. I will say that last I saw him, he lived.” He unfastened his cloak and held it out to the king.

Arthur recoiled. “What are you doing?”

“I’m no longer worthy of wearing this.”

Arthur’s tone grew cold and hard. “That is for _me_ to decide. You’ve sworn an oath.”

“Then I beg you to release me from my oath. I’ve failed you, failed Merlin, failed in everything it means to be a knight. I can’t wear this again until I’ve found him.” Percival unbuckled his sword belt.

“And if you don’t?”

Percival met Arthur’s steely eyes. “Then I’ll search all of Albion without rest till my dying day.”

Arthur paused, the muscles of his jaw working as he ground his teeth. “Very well, Percival, I release you from your oath to me. You are stripped of your title, and after today, you are forbidden to return here until such time as Merlin is found. Keep your sword. You’ll need it.” He turned, thrust Percival’s cloak into Leon’s hands, held up a hand to forestall anyone from speaking to him and disappeared up the stairs.

***

Percival winced as Gwaine plopped down beside him, kicked his legs in the air over the battlements – so much for quiet solitude.

“This is quite a spot you’ve got here. Nice view. Nice place to sulk.”

Percival took a deep breath, struggled to control his turbulent emotions and lock them up. “This is where we first… when it started between us.”

“I see.” Gwaine waited a moment for Percival to continue before he asked, “So are you going to tell me what happened?”

Percival sighed. He studied his hands, felt the ghost of Merlin’s pale, delicate fingers entwined with his – but his mind’s eye could only see lightning arcing from them to strike a creature made of nightmare, or covered in blood as he held them to the wound in his neck. “There isn’t much to tell. We were attacked and I lost him.”

A hint of impatience entered Gwaine’s voice. “You can’t imagine I’ll be satisfied with that. I love him too, Perce. What happened?”

“I went back but he was gone – I searched and searched but he was nowhere, and I—"

“Percival! What happened?”

Percival flinched at Gwaine's sharp tone and rested his face in his hands. “I can’t… It’s not for me to say.”

“Ah.” Gwaine folded his hands, took a deep breath. “So you found out about the magic, then.”

Percival whipped around to face him. “You knew? How?”

Gwaine shrugged. “How could I _not_ know? It’s so blindingly obvious that sometimes I imagine _everyone_ knows but it’s something we don’t talk about, like a deformed relative kept in the attic.”

Percival shook his head. Lancelot knew, Gwaine knew – was he the only one in the dark? “But, I don’t…”

“Remember when Gaius told us no one can survive the dorocha’s touch? Everyone except Merlin, that is. Did you never wonder about that? And how many conveniently falling tree limbs does it take before you can’t explain it away as luck or coincidence?”

Percival grabbed his head in his hands to stop the spinning. “This whole time, you knew… Why didn’t you…?”

“What? Tell Arthur? Tell you? The same reason you wouldn’t tell me. It’s not my secret to tell. If Merlin wanted me to know, he would tell me. It hurts a little that he hasn’t, I won’t lie, but I trust he has his reasons.”

Perhaps it was only exhaustion, but to Percival, all this just felt like one of those dreams where everything is both the same and different than in waking. “I don’t know what to do… I have to search for him, if he’s even…”

Gwaine grabbed his knee with a steadying hand. “Don’t go there, Percival. Merlin is tough – very tough. Sometimes when he doesn’t think anyone’s looking, the mask slips a little and you can see the strength and determination underneath that bumbling exterior. I can’t begin to imagine his true power.”

Percival stared into his lap. “I can.”

“Oh?”

“Something attacked us… a demon, a great hound, large as a house. He fought it…” Gwaine’s grip on his knee tightened and Percival turned to face him. “He drove it away… banished it to wherever it came from, I guess. He’s not… a sorcerer is just a man – he’s more than that. He can command the sky. Gwaine, I…”

Gwaine nodded with a cocky grin. “No shit? I always knew our lad was special. Must have iron self-control putting up with the princess like he does. I’d have turned him into a frog a long time ago.” Gwaine threw his arm around Percival’s shoulders. “Don’t give up, P, we’ll find him.”

Percival sighed. “I don’t even know where to begin to look.”

Gwaine leaned on Percival’s shoulder to stand up. “I do.”

***

Percival crossed the small river over a rickety wooden bridge alongside an impressive stone structure under construction, and his chest tightened with anxiety as he approached the village. Ealdor appeared more prosperous than Merlin had described – some of the houses had solid roofs and a fine cobblestone street ran through the village. Lazy smoke rose from numerous chimneys and the smell of roasting meat and fresh-baked bread greeted him and would have made his empty stomach grumble if he weren’t so sick with foreboding and grief.

After asking directions, he found the way to one of the finest houses in town, sporting a second storey, real glass in the windows, and a lovely and well-tended flower garden out front.

Despite his pounding heart and trembling hands and his fear of what he might or might not find, he dismounted and, like tearing a bandage from a dried wound, he strode to the door and knocked without hesitation. If Merlin wasn’t here…

With a click, the door opened to reveal a pleasant-looking woman with a kind face; she had Merlin’s colouring and the same broad-set eyes holding a familiar brightness – this could only be Hunith.

She fixed a blank stare on him for a moment before her eyes widened and a hand flew to cover her mouth; the jug she’d been holding crashed to the floor and shattered as she stumbled away from him pale and shaking as if she’d seen a ghost.


	19. Hunith

Hunith had a lonely childhood. Children can be cruel, and because she had no parents, they teased Hunith and called her hurtful names, while adults avoided her because she made them uncomfortable by laughing at inappropriate times.

She laughed because she found the court so funny – people lied all the time and pretended they believed other people’s lies. She found this hilarious, the funny faces people made when she joined in on the joke and, laughing, pointed out all the untruths. Nobody appreciated her sense of humour though, so Gaius kept her close to him and she learnt from an early age the basics of the healer’s art.

As she grew up, she realised people weren’t joking when they lied – they expected people to believe them, and people usually did, and the world didn’t seem so funny anymore. Hunith began to dread talking to people, and as she got older, she came to understand the damage people did to themselves and each other with their lies.

Gaius told her she had a special and precious gift, but she considered it a curse. She didn’t _want_ to know when people lied – this made her party to the lie and made it hard for her to like anyone because even the kindest people lied. But as she grew into a young woman, she accumulated the experience and perspective to understand sometimes kindness required a lie, like when Gaius didn’t tell sick people they would die, or to spare people’s feelings, like when someone asked, “Does this dress make me look fat?”

Her gift made her a useful assistant; after an examination, she would tell Gaius which of the patient’s answers were lies - people were often embarassed of their infirmities and failings - and he would adjust his treatment accordingly. Even more, she helped him with his position as advisor to the king, because at the highest levels, people’s lies became complicated and dangerous, and the king valued Gaius’ sense for the truth.

She grew into a beautiful young woman, and she found her gift especially useful to help her avoid boys who only wanted one thing from her, although soon they stopped trying because young men had fragile egos and she had no patience for liars and a sharp tongue to boot.

Still, she had a good life; she had a kind guardian in Gaius, people respected her for her virtue and honesty, and her gift allowed her to navigate court intrigue with skill and confidence so everyone considered her a friend and she made no enemies.

She lived in a happy time; they had a handsome and strong young king, merry and generous, who loved rich banquets, riotous entertainment, and tournaments that attracted glory-seeking knights from all over the five kingdoms – a perfect milieu for an attractive and fun-loving young woman.

But soon the lords of Camelot began to notice her for her grace and beauty, and while nothing serious resulted from boys chasing her, to be pursued by nobles entailed greater risks, and having fallen into a particularly dangerous and impossible situation, Gaius had no choice but to send her away, beyond the borders of the kingdom to Ealdor, where he had an old acquaintance who would help settle her.

After the splendour of Camelot, a squalid little village in the middle of nowhere could be nothing but misery. She had no experience of rural life; literate and refined, the insular villagers at first found her haughty and avoided her, and she lived a desolate life, doing whatever odd work she found, and only the money Gaius sent her allowed her to get by.

Then a great revolution shook Camelot, and the shockwaves shook the foundations of the Five Kingdoms and reached even a miserable outpost like Ealdor. Queen Ygraine had died in childbirth, and their shining king grew dark and brutal, and declared magic his enemy. Hunith feared for Gaius as one of the foremost sorcerers of the kingdom – but Gaius was a survivor and he found a place in the king’s new order and yet managed to save at least a few good people from the pyre.

One of these was the dragonlord Balinor, who Gaius sent to Hunith for refuge. The moment she laid eyes on him she recognised him as a man of nobility and honour, and he fell in love with her strength and honesty, and they had a year of happiness together. But word reached Uther of Balinor’s whereabouts and Balinor had to flee, and heartbroken, Hunith never saw him again.

He had left her with a new gift. She had a difficult pregnancy and sensed this would be no ordinary birth; bearing a child such as this changed her, and she began to perceive the world in a different way. Now she sensed more than just lies; she detected sickness in people, and even animals and plants; understood a person’s nature as she drew close, sensed if they meant harm, beheld the dark places in their souls. This frightened her; she wanted this sort of knowledge even less than she had wanted her truth sense.

After Merlin came, Hunith’s perceptions blossomed further; if she focused on someone, what before she merely sensed she could now see. Living things were surrounded by light; plants had little, animals a gentle glow – but people were the most interesting, complex and colourful, and over time she discovered correlations between people’s natures and the shades that predominated in their light. For example, Morgana had been indigo, which she found often in people with magic; Gaius had indigo too, but also sky blue, the colour of people who lived in their minds; pink had predominated in Gwen, which reflected her nurturing soul.

But three people had unique light. One was Merlin; he had no light, and at first this scared her because only dead things lacked light. But he was made of magic, his energy part of nature; when she knew what to look for, she perceived his light like an shimmering invisible cloud emanating from him and reaching she knew not how far. When he used magic, his cloud lit up around him and filled with sparkling energy, and so she always caught him when he used his power, although he never discovered how.

The second was Arthur. He was the sun, a blinding inferno of gold and red; breathtaking, beautiful, many times brighter than anyone she’d ever encountered, and his light seeped into the earth and lent it vitality, fuelling life wherever he tread. When he and Merlin were together, Arthur burned brighter still, and Merlin drew light from him and his cloud burst into life, an explosion of dancing, flashing stars that made warmth radiate through her body and left her in tears, and for the first time she had faith she’d made the right decision sending Merlin to Camelot.

The third was her own. When she touched any living thing, she could brush away impurities and smooth out knots in its energy with her light. She was in demand as a sitter because babies never cried in her arms; people came to her to ask her to inspect their crops or when they were in anguish because she always made them feel better. Over time, Ealdor had come to depend on her insight and the health she brought to the community and its harvests, and for this they tolerated her strange child.

But Hunith’s light shined pure white, contaminated by no colour at all. All the other hues she’d seen in numerous people – but she’d never encountered anyone with light like hers. Sometimes this scared her; people’s colours were a reflection of their natures – what did it mean that she had none? Why was she the only one?

This is why she recoiled in shock when she opened her door to be confronted with a huge man whose light blazed bright as Arthur’s and as white as hers.

Her reaction made his eyes widen in a stricken expression and he shrank into himself and bowed his head. “I mean you no harm… I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She pushed aside her astonishment and rushed to reassure him with a welcoming smile. “No, no, you only surprised me. You must be Percival. Please, come in.”

He stood at the door, hesitant, and the sadness and fear on his handsome face tugged at her heart, and she took his hand and led him inside. “I’m so pleased to meet you! I’m Hunith.”

He raised her hand to his lips as he bowed. “Percival, ma’am.”

She smiled at his gentle formality, his guileless, earnest eyes, so at odds with his towering frame. “How about just Hunith?” He nodded, but kept his head down. Curious, she asked “Now, what brings you here, Percival?”

His restless eyes darted and his body hummed with tension as he struggled to speak and she got a knot of unease in her stomach. “I… I’ve come looking for Merlin.” He clasped his arms over his stomach, his eyes wet and his face drained of colour, and her insides rolled and time seemed to slow.

“But he’s not here – I haven’t seen him in some time. Has something happened?”

Hunith’s deepening panic arrested her breath as Percival raised his fists to his brow, legs quivering before he collapsed like a toppling wall to his knees at her feet, wracking sobs pouring out of him. “I think I killed him. I think I killed him. I left him, he needed me and I left him. I killed him…”

Hunith stood frozen, pierced to the core, the shattering thought flashing through her mind that the pain of their separation from each other and all Merlin’s sacrifices were for naught and she should have kept him clutched to her bosom after all; yet surely she’d know if Merlin were gone…? She shut her eyes, tuned out Percival’s convulsive outpouring and focused on listening to the vibrations of the earth – no, she sensed him; fainter and further than ever before, even diffuse, but still in reach.

Sighing with bone-deep relief but hiding her apprehension, she threw her arms around Percival’s broad back and pressed his head to her chest. “Shh, Percival, no – he’s not gone! Of course he’s not gone, I’m sure of it.”

He didn’t stop his weeping – his burdens must be heavy and he needed this, so she stroked his head, let his tears soak into her apron.

His powerful light was damaged and turbulent like a flame flickering in the wind. She reached into his light with her own, blasted by a sensation like staggering through a gale and being struck by lightning both, but Merlin had inherited _her_ determination and she stood her ground, assaulted by terrible images – separation from his mother as an infant; the destruction of his home and family; the terrible things he’d done after that – and Merlin, so lost and sad; how much Percival loved him.

This was no ordinary man. From the chrysalis of his suffering, something terrifying and wonderful struggled to emerge, and so she smoothed away the rough places, unclogged the blockages, quieted the turbulence and his light grew steady, calm and balanced, and at last he sighed and stilled.

Hunith dropped to one knee and held his face in her hands. “I don’t think you killed him, Percival – but you hurt him and drove him somewhere I don't understand. I think you’re meant to go after him and bring him back to us.”

“I want to believe that… but how can you…”

“I feel him. He’s… changed now – I can’t explain, and I don’t know what it means – but my heart tells me he needs you.”

“Like I needed you.” He took her hands in his and helped her to her feet. His eyes had unfocused, peering into the distance, or perhaps within. “I felt what you did – I’m different now.”

“Not different, but perhaps you can see yourself more clearly.”

Percival wiped his eyes and smiled at her; now he stood unbowed and determined. “If it takes forever, I’ll find him.” He kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm. “You can do nothing today,  Percival, it’s nearly dark now. You can begin in the morning.”

He shook his head. “I think I’ve been burden enough.”

“The only burden would be if I had to worry about you wandering in the night tired and hungry. Now sit down and let’s eat.”

They talked late into the night, of Merlin, Camelot, life in Ealdor, and when Percival fell asleep exhausted, Hunith reflected that in their long conversation, she had detected not once the slightest hint of untruth. She retired to her room, and kneeling, she said a prayer to ask the gods to protect her son.


	20. The Fisher King

_Every night Percival has the same dream: he sits in a great hall at a banquet, and he’s the only guest. Between each course, a strange procession passes him; first comes a young man carrying a bleeding lance followed by two boys carrying candelabra, and last, a beautiful young girl bearing an elaborately decorated cup. He wonders at this odd spectacle, but he’d been an over-curious child, often admonished for asking too many questions and so he remains silent, and every morning he wakes with the sense he’s failed and wonders what this all means._

***

For many months, Percival wandered the Five Kingdoms through a bitter winter, stopping in every town and at every keep and inn searching for Merlin – but nowhere had anyone seen or heard from him.

He went first to Cynon, but Merlin had not been there. Cynon used his magic mirror to search for Merlin, but everywhere he looked, there was only fog. “Strange, something is blocking me. I can see nothing.” He vowed to keep trying and promised to send word if he found anything.

He went to Queen Annis in Caerleon, who asked in astonishment, “What, Arthur’s fool? We haven’t seen him since the night he snuck into our camp. Strange that kings and knights should pay such bother for an idiot.”

He went to Gawant, but Merlin hadn’t been seen there, either, though Princess Elena didn’t wonder why kings and knights loved him. “I love him too, and I owe him so much. I’ll offer a reward to anyone who brings word of him.”

He went to Rodor’s court in Nemeth, again in vain. “I will order a search of the kingdom for the sake of our friend and ally Camelot, for Mithian tells me Merlin figures large in the heart of your king.”

He even went to Mercia, where he endured much abuse and taunting because the Mercians would never give up their rivalry with Camelot, always richer and more powerful than they. But Bayard remembered with respect Merlin’s bravery and devotion to his master, and promised he would send word if he received news of him.

***

Sunlight flooded through Arthur’s eyelids and he squeezed them tight, to no avail.

A cheerful and practiced voice greeted him. “Good morning, Sire!”

 _Oh God._ Arthur had given up praying for death as ineffectual, and so he resigned himself to enduring the same morning over and over like the refrain of an annoying drinking song.

“I have polished your armour, sharpened your sword, selected your clothes, the snow is particularly heavy today, and now, if you would allow me, I would like to serve you breakfast!”

Arthur hid under his pillow, but George always seemed to find him. “Now, now, sire, you have a very full schedule today, so we cannot afford to dally.”

Breakfast was as grotesquely resplendent as always; food had become Arthur’s prime consolation of late and he’d begun to suspect George of being a fat-fancier, stuffing him with rich foods and quietly letting out all his trousers.

“The first item on your agenda is to learn your speech for the opening ceremony of the new royal arms forge. I have taken the liberty of composing it for you. I usually find it best to begin with a joke…”

_Oh no._

“I believe you’ll enjoy this one, sire: ‘How did the octopus go to war?’”

Arthur tuned him out, struck by a sudden wave of gloom. How had he ever lived without… No, he had been lucky for many years; for a king, _this_ was a normal life – dull routine and having his life managed by a servile but passive-aggressive staff – and he must learn to bear the burden.

“…dispute with the Guild of Haberdashers. After that, an inspection of the repair work to the storm drains, followed by a short presentation by… well, ‘short’ might be the wrong word – perhaps ‘not overly…”

Arthur flopped back onto his pillow. Maybe one more prayer for death. It couldn’t hurt.

***

Desperate after failing to find Merlin in the far north, Percival made plans to take his search south into lands controlled by Morgana. On the way, he stopped on the coldest and snowiest night he’d ever experienced at an inn on the road south. After asking for word of Merlin and receiving none, he ordered food and drink and sulked in a corner, and did his best to keep his spirits up by holding onto what Hunith had told him – but though a quiet man, Percival had grown up surrounded by people and the months of solitude had worn on him and left him lonely.

He was about to turn in for the night when the door to the inn crashed open and a man staggered in, bundled up in so many furs he looked like a fat drunken bear, and he huffed and hooted in relief at reaching shelter. The bear turned to face him. “Ah, Percival, there you are!”

Percival squinted. “Gwaine?”

Gwaine waddled over, shed his hat and cloak, and divested himself of successive layers of scarves and jackets as he spoke. “You know, you’re a hard man to catch up with – I’ve been at this for a month now. Don’t you ever take a day off? You’re killing me here. I haven’t even had time to get drunk, and think of all the lasses in need of a good warming I’ve had to disappoint. Not like I’d accomplish much with a pair of frozen—”

Percival shook himself out of his wide-eyed and flabbergasted stasis. “Will you shut up and tell me what you’re doing here?”

Gwaine frowned and sat next to Percival on his bench. “Well hello to you too, Perce, I’m fine, thank you, although I think I may have lost a toe or two…”

“Gwaine…”

“I come all this way to tell you something important, and this is the thanks I get. Do I get a drink? A hug, even? No, you shush me like I’m—”

While happy some things never change, Percival slapped a hand over Gwaine’s mouth. “Barkeep, a mug of your best hot mead.” Gwaine cocked an eyebrow. Percival sighed. “Make that a cauldron.”

Gwaine pulled Percival’s hand away, grinning. “All is forgiven.”

Percival frowned. “Wait, a month? But your duties…”

Still shivering, he leaned into Percival for warmth and rubbed his hands together. “I complained one time too many about the incompetence of the princess’s search parties. He blew up and told me if I thought I could do better I was welcome to try, so I took him up on his offer, and figured you could use the company. No luck so far, eh?”

Percival shook his head, disheartened. What if Merlin didn’t want to be found? What hope had he of flushing out a sorcerer?

Gwaine pat his thigh. “No worries, I think I worked out where he would go.”

***

Arthur huddled in bed, his bedclothes clutched about him like armour.

Ever since George had roused him he’d been gripped by an increasing sense of existential dread, like the falling insides you get between dropping something precious and fragile and it shattering on the ground, only this sensation was sustained rather than fleeting.

He _did_ dread George… Perhaps he could appoint him to a diplomatic post or something – but then Arthur would end up with an endless progression of simpering invisibles, and with George he at least had a challenge. Anyway, this went far beyond his George-dread.

He checked his pulse – surely his heart shouldn’t beat this hard without physical exertion? Was he suffering a strange panic attack or something? Maybe he should call for Gaius. He had a strong impulse to run, away, anywhere but here.

A movement on the canopy of his bed drew his eye, and he gasped in horror and fought to suppress a scream drawn from the fevered nightmares of his unconscious as he _saw_ it: defying gravity, rubbing its revolting legs against each other in demonic glee, staring at him with a malevolence that burned from the depths of the netherworld, sat a housefly.

In his defense, it was a larger-than-average housefly. Making no sudden moves, he reached for the dream dictionary on his nightstand, steeling himself to initiate a pre-emptive attack; he grasped the tome with both hands and turned to face the fly just as the horrible thing launched off the canopy in his general direction. He shrieked and leapt off the bed onto the floor and scrambled away into a corner; the fly buzzed lazily over him and out the window. Arthur lunged to slam the window shut behind it before he wilted trembling to the floor with a whimper, fairly sure he was losing his mind and wondering what excuse he’d give to the alarmed guards charging into the room.

***

The fly buzzed some distance over the canopy of the forest before resuming its true form. This had certainly been a disastrous experiment – apparently, his dread grandeur remained undiminished regardless of his size, and anyway it was beneath a dragon’s dignity to take such a lowly form. Well then, there would be no relief from the boredom of guarding his charge, and he resigned himself to the dull routine of nightly sweeps around the city at a safe distance.

***

... _a strange procession passes him; first comes a young man carrying a bleeding lance followed by two boys carrying candelabra, and last, a beautiful young girl bearing an elaborately decorated cup. He remains silent, and wakes with the sense he’s failed..._

Percival and Gwaine arrived at a rickety wooden bridge spanning a broad fissure, the mists rising from within obscuring the depth of the cleft. Percival furrowed his eyebrows, surprised by the warmer and rainy weather on the other side.

Percival stepped toward the bridge, but Gwaine grabbed his arm to stop him. “Wait a minute.” He frowned and scanned their surroundings. “Hello?”

A dirty-looking dwarf materialised out of the shadows of the bridge. “Ah! Strength returns.” He stepped forward and shook Gwaine’s hand before glancing up at Percival. “And I see you brought Love.”

Percival frowned at his appellation. “Oi! I’m stronger than _him_ ,” he said, pointing at Gwaine.

“And I’ve forgotten more about love than he’s ever likely to learn!”

The dwarf sagged and rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t make this crap up, I just work here. Can we get on with this?” He held out his hand for Percival. “I’m Grettir, the Keeper of the Bridge. There’s no time to spare – the land beyond the bridge is growing ill again and requires Love to restore its balance.” He turned to Gwaine. “Strength is not needed this time, but you are always welcome here.”

Gwaine smiled. “Well thank you! Maybe I can speed things along as a guide.”

Grettir nodded and gestured for them to cross. “Remember, the rules are different here.”

Gwaine mounted the bridge, but Percival had hoped for information. “Please, I’m looking for a man named Merlin. Did he cross the bridge?”

Grettir flashed him a sad smile with his oversized grey teeth. “I cannot say – this is a question you must answer for yourself. Now hurry along.”

***

“Good morning, Sire! I have polished your armour, sharpened your sword, selected your clothes, the snow remains heavy, and now, if you would allow, me, I would like to serve you breakfast!”

Arthur hadn’t realised how much M… how much protection he once had against the serving staff; now they controlled almost every aspect of his daily life – no wonder his father had been such a grump. You would think as king he’d be free to do whatever he wished, but unless he planned to do everything for himself, the day-to-day running of the household was under their control, and he’d given up resisting them and did as he was told. He had his revenge, though – he’d been refusing to eat more than a sausage and a piece of fruit for breakfast every morning for weeks, and he noted with triumph George’s subtly narrowed eyes as he sent off Arthur’s trousers to be taken in. Hah!

***

Morgana tapped her fingers with nervous energy on the arm of her throne – while confident in their preparations, too many unknowns plagued her thoughts. “Has anything changed?”

Angharad shook her head. “Still nothing – I can’t see anything, anywhere. It’s like a cloud lies over all of Albion, blocking me. Many of us have tried with the same result.”

Morgana’s dreams hadn’t ceased, but she too had failed in her attempts to scry. “Suall?”

“The druids will not help us, but they did tell me they are also blind.”

She turned to Angharad. “What do you think caused this?”

Angharad frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know – I can find no reference in any source to indicate this has ever happened before. Perhaps the phenomenon is natural – if not, such an enchantment would take immense power to create.”

Morgana clenched her teeth. “Emrys.”

Ifor shook his head. “Unlikely, Morgana. Even if Emrys had the power create an enchantment of such magnitude, the magic required to maintain it would be staggering.”

Morgana scowled “It can’t be a coincidence our military advantage over Arthur has been removed. We’re operating blind now.”

Hisauus shook his head. “Not entirely blind, Morgana – we still have mundane sources of information.”

Morgana rounded on her spymaster. “And? Has anyone seen him?”

“No, Morgana. Merlin has been missing for months.”

Morgana smirked. “Then perhaps Emrys is blind too.”

***

“Good morning, Sire! I have polished your armour, sharpened your sword, selected your clothes, the snow has stopped but there is a bitter wind, and—“

Arthur held up a hand to silence George. “I’m going to stop you right there.”

“Sire?”

“George, I need some variety. Every morning you come in and wake me the same way, make the same announcement, serve exactly the same breakfast, and perform every task in the same way and in the same order. Now go back outside and come in with something new. ”

George nodded, imperturbable. “As you wish, sire.” George exited, shut the door behind him and immediately opened it again, reentered and moved to his usual position. He shuffled a few inches to the side. “Happy morn, my lord. I have shined your mail, honed your blade, the sky has ceased to precipitate frozen flakes of vapour but there are biting gusts, and now, if you would permit me, I shall dish up your morning meal!”

“I should very much like to throttle you, George.”

George maintained the flawless placidity of his expression with practiced ease. “Oh, that would be an _honour_ , sire! I shall endeavour to bulge my eyes and loll my tongue in a most satisfying manner. If I might arrange for my replacement before we begin…”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Was that humour, George?”

“Let’s imagine I’ve given the answer least likely to result in throttling, sire.”

 _Hmm. Not bad. Dark, but I can work with it._ Arthur nodded in satisfaction with the sense a corner had been turned.

***

“This is nothing like you said.” Gwaine had described a blasted and barren wasteland – but Percival had never seen any place this _wet._ Torrential rain had fallen non-stop since they crossed the bridge, and the waterlogged soil made for a tough slog. The wild, fantastical vegetation posed a constant threat; vines grew so fast they snaked across the path to ensnare them, huge flowers spit clouds of suffocating pollen, everywhere thorns pulled at their clothes and flesh, and the smell of rotting matter made him ill.

“I swear the place wasn’t like this last time! It’s like a garden tended by a crazy person who used too much fertiliser laced with one of Gaius’ disgusting tonics.” Gwaine sank knee deep into a puddle of mud and dead soggy leaves. “Blech.”

They camped for the night in a shallow cave that gave them some shelter from the elements but between the soggy cold, thoughts of Merlin, and Gwaine’s snoring, Percival took hours to fall asleep.

_Between each course, a strange procession passes him; first comes a young man carrying a bleeding lance followed by two boys carrying candelabra. Last, a beautiful young girl bearing an elaborately decorated cup._

_Percival stands. “Who does the cup serve?” The procession halts and the girl holds out the cup to him. When he touches it, the hall dissolves into a blinding white light and he wakes._

***

They drudged on for the better part of a day before they entered an area of rocky terrain that Gwaine recognised. “Aha!” Gwaine smiled and patted Percival’s shoulder. “We’re nearly there now.”

Or at least he hoped so – this had taken much longer than his previous visit and they were running low on food – and if he didn’t get into some dry clothes soon he’d go naked and damn the consequences. All this chafing and squelching was driving him mad.

At last they reached the crest of a ridge, and before them lay the Dark Tower, looming over its plain, looking much different now; before, the structure had been crumbling into ruin, but now appeared newly built; some type of energy crackled at the crown, and the storm clouds emanated from a point directly above. The rain fell in a drizzle now, perhaps because the clouds were still young so close to their source.

He stepped forward to climb down the slope, but Percival stopped him. “No, Gwaine. I need to go alone.”

Percival’s eyes contained a certainty that brooked no argument, so Gwaine nodded, although he didn't like this. “I’ll wait here.” Percival smiled and started down the slope. “But if you’re not back in a day I’m coming after you!” He watched Percival descend and scanned the sky for wyverns and wondered at how one chance encounter in a tavern with a princess and his scrawny manservant those many years ago could lead him into all manner of troubles. But had it been chance?

Percival reached the bottom and set off across the meadow. A shiver ran up Gwaine’s back as above Percival, the clouds parted as if cut by a knife in an ever-spreading wedge trailing him, and sunlight struck the earth and flowers bloomed where he tread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Candelabra' is plural for 'candelabrum', so I left it. 'Candelabras' sounds weird to me.
> 
> In the original myths, the spear is a magic weapon that gave the Fisher King his wound, and the grail was a deep dish, not a cup. These symbols were later appropriated by the Church and made the spear of Longinus, used to wound Jesus, and the grail (Cup of Life in the series) became a goblet holding the blood of Jesus from the Last Supper. The myths are Celtic in origin, not Christian, and it's intended that here they retain their Celtic roots.


	21. Merlin

Every hair on Merlin’s body stood on end as he gazed up at his friend. “Lancelot? Is it really you?”

Lancelot took Merlin’s hand and pulled him to his feet with a bright smile. “It’s really me.”

Merlin stood speechless and mind racing; Lancelot spread his arms and Merlin reached for him, but hesitated, distrusting his perceptions. Lancelot gestured him forward with his fingers and quirked his eyebrow in an unmistakable expression, and the moment they touched, Merlin recognised Lancelot’s true spirit and his doubts dispersed, and he held tight to him, overcome and shaking.

At last, Merlin let go, smiling and eyes welling. “It’s really you.”

Lancelot smiled with bright eyes and Merlin took his proffered arm, his mind a happy fog as they strolled down a path through a field of lustrous flowers, silent but for the whisper of a pleasant breeze. Absorbed in peace and contentment and free from desire for anything else, such as he’d experienced only in dreams, he leaned into his friend. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Lancelot turned his head to face him, beaming. “I’ve missed you too.”

Merlin’s smile faded to a frown as a morbid thought set in. “No one else will.”

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, “Do you really believe that’s true?”

Merlin’s life in the mortal world had now faded to a dream, but an eternity wouldn’t erase from his mind Percival’s wild eyes and when he left Merlin to die. “Percival is terrified of me. I made him hate me.”

Lancelot shook his head. “Percival is love; he is not capable of hate.”

“If that was true before, it isn’t now.”

Lancelot stopped and took Merlin’s shoulders, his voice assured. “Do not underestimate the measure of Percival’s heart, Merlin. A power resides there in its own way as great as your own.”

Merlin lowered his head to ponder this strange statement, but a sudden chill interrupted his thoughts and he turned to find an old rickety fence had appeared across their path such as one might find between farms, but this one stretched beyond the horizon in both directions. “What lies over the fence?

“You already know the answer.”

Merlin held tight to Lancelot, having the sensation of standing on a turbulent shore, the surf pushing him in one direction, the undertow dragging him another. Was he ready to cross the fence? What would doing so mean? What would he find? “Is my father there?”

“Yes, he is there.”

“Will?”

“Everyone is there.”

In one direction lay his destiny and Arthur, a life of renowned deeds but also terrible loneliness and sorrow; to go in the other meant failure, yet also an eternity of harmony and love. The maelstrom of clashing emotion and memory in his head resolved into a choice, and he smiled as his eyes welled and a tear ran down his cheek. “Let’s go, then.”

With a soft smile, Lancelot reached up to stroke Merlin’s cheek and wipe the tear from his face. “You don’t belong there, Merlin. You have a destiny yet unfulfilled.”

Merlin pulled away, the peace that had enveloped him igniting into anger. “I’m so tired of hearing about destiny. I’m through with it! I want to stay with you!”

Lancelot shook his head. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”

“Can you stop me from crossing the fence?”

“I cannot.”

“Then I’m done serving as destiny’s tool.” He mounted the fence and faced Lancelot with defiance.

“There are other tools of destiny, Merlin.”

“What does that mean?” He met Lancelot’s now ancient and fathomless eyes, and a violent shiver ran through Merlin as a furious gale whipped around him, and with a thunderous boom, the ground shook as if something massive had fallen to earth.

Lancelot smiled with a benevolent sadness. “It means your time among men is not yet over, Emrys, even if you want it to be.”

The words stabbed into Merlin’s chest with ice. “ _No!_ ” A searing and overpowering wind seized him and dragged him away, and Lancelot receded into the distance and was gone.

Merlin opened his eyes.

Clouds covered the night sky, admitting little light, yet a power coursed through his body making the dark as bright as high noon. He recognised this power; ancient and all-encompassing, his own sang out in greeting to its kin as the two sources of magic danced together through his body, healing and strengthening him. He pushed himself to a sitting position and found Kilgharrah looming over him, and when he touched his neck, he found no wound, only congealing blood covering his skin.

Merlin inhaled the air, still heavy with the breath of the dragon’s enchantment. “Your breath… so… fresh. Smells like… spring.”

Kilgharrah raised a brow ridge. “There’s no need to be insulting, Merlin.”

“I died.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you healed me.”

Kilgharrah nodded his head, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “Yes.”

Merlin frowned. “But I thought no one can return from the dead.”

“You were only _mostly_ dead.”

Merlin blinked and rattled his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does not need to. All that matters is what _is_.”

“That also doesn’t make any sense.”

“I told you before that no man may escape his destiny.”

Merlin sighed, because those words were starting to make more sense than he wanted them to. “But I’ve failed. I’ve accomplished nothing and I’ve lost everything.” He stood, his legs more steady than he had expected, and met Kilgharrah’s gaze. “You’re all I have left now.”

Kilgharrah’s voice grew soft and kind. “I do not believe that is true, Merlin, but I am honoured you think so.”

Kilgharrah had been imprisoned for a generation, yet this amounted to but a fleeting moment in a lifespan of millennia. The same period would be most of a man’s adult life, so how could a dragon understand the human perspective? In but a few years Gaius would be gone, and now Merlin would have no opportunity to say good-bye; in a generation Arthur and Percival would be different men with lives that held no place for him. No, now he must bear the burden of his destiny alone.

He sighed and met Kilgharrah’s eyes; Merlin’s glowed when he used his magic, but Kilgharrah’s always contained the gold fire of the ancient magic churning in him – magic that still suffused Merlin’s body. Why not use this power while it lasted then, to forget all his troubles and be free, even if for a short while? “Will you fly with me?”

“I will, gladly.”

Merlin spread his wings and launched into the sky with a triumphant roar, and Kilgharrah followed close behind; they raced each other up above the clouds and soared together under the full moon in daring aerial dances, and for a fleeting moment, Merlin set aside his burdens.

***

Merlin woke to the morning light filtering through low grey blankets of clouds promising imminent rain. He lay naked, covered only by a large fur, but a red-hot boulder a few feet away kept the autumn chill at bay.

With painful effort, he sat up. He buried his face in his hands, his head pounding and his back and shoulders sore in ways he didn’t imagine were possible. He remembered the previous night like a fading dream and had no recollection of coming to this place.

And what exactly was this place? He stood and wrapped himself in the fur to explore his surroundings. He stood on a rocky outcrop high on a mountainside with a hazy view of a snow-capped mountain range, and behind him gaped the maw of a massive cave; from within came a periodic roaring sound like a chorus of morbidly obese men with head colds.

“ _Leoht._ ” A ball of light blinked into existence in his palm and leapt up to dance around him like a will o’ the wisp, illuminating his way as he entered the cave and clambered down a wide and rough passage for perhaps a hundred yards to emerge into an immense cavern.

He gasped in shock. “What the…?” In the middle of the huge chamber Kilgharrah slept perched atop a colossal pile of riches; glittering gold in endless quantities of coin and artifacts, jewels of every imaginable kind and treasures of every description, the accumulated wealth of forgotten civilizations.

In reply to his exclamation, the snoring ceased and one great golden eye opened to regard him.

Merlin gaped, aghast. “Is this where you live?”

Kilgharrah stirred and raised his head. “Why, yes, young warlock, it is.”

Merlin stepped further into the chamber, mind a-boggle. “What on earth are you doing with all this gold? There’s enough here to buy every kingdom in Albion!”

Kilgharrah fluttered his wings in the dragon equivalent of a shrug. “I am a dragon, Merlin. It’s what we do.”

Merlin stopped at the edge of the pile; he spotted a golden ewer of magnificent workmanship, engraved with runes of some kind he didn’t recognise and he picked the piece up to examine it. Kilgharrah growled softly.

Merlin replaced the ewer and held up his hands. “Alright, alright, I won’t touch your… I think ‘hoard’ is too mild a term for all thi…”

“So tell me, Merlin,” Kilgharrah interjected in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction, “what will you do now?”

Merlin sighed. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

His life as he knew it had ended; by now Arthur would know of his betrayal and would have begun a furious search for him, and if Morgana learned Merlin still lived, she might harm his mother or use her against him. He needed time to think, to take stock of his resources and figure out how to move forward.

For ten years now, he’d been entirely passive and reactive, hiding in fear and lost in the routine of his life, leaving Morgana in control of events and free to plan and gather her forces. Merlin was sure he surpassed her in raw power, but even after all these years he still lacked training, practice, and knowledge, lagging dangerously behind Morgana, free to explore her magic as he could not, allowing her to outmatch him. The time had come to even the balance.

He needed to find a secure base of operations beyond Morgana’s knowledge and reach from whence he might monitor and influence events unseen and unfelt, and he needed access to a magical library in order to study and hone his abilities.

Now Merlin had nothing left to lose, nothing to hold him back from realising his potential as a sorcerer and gathering his own resources, and when he was ready, he would take the fight to Morgana.

***

Merlin entered the throne room of the Dark Tower, which remained exactly as he remembered from his last visit some five years ago. A spirit of sadness pervaded here, as if the suffering of its former lord had seeped into the very stones of the chamber. Cobwebs hung from every corner in matted sheets spun over the centuries and dust and debris littered the floor.

Merlin stopped in front of the throne, knelt, and placed upon the seat a bouquet of wildflowers, recalling the ancient and sorrowful eyes of the Fisher King and Merlin wondered if he would now inherit that same fate.

His body tingled with the great magic thrumming in this ancient place of power, its vast energies tapped, amassed, and tended by eons of mighty sorcerers. The tower stood at the nexus of the Perilous Lands, and from here the lords of this tower tended the land and reached far beyond to influence the greater world, as the Fisher King had done to bring Merlin to him.

Now no lord dwelt here, so why not Merlin? The Fisher King had been bound to this land, which, wounded and accursed, he had poisoned with his sickness; perhaps as its lord, Merlin’s youth and vitality would bring new life to this place. A king, imagine that – though with no subjects other than wild animals and wyverns.

He lay in the middle of the chamber in deep meditation for many long hours, insinuating himself into the magic centred here and extending along ever-branching pathways up into the clouds and down into the earth to spread like roots, connecting him to the land and everything in it. He perceived life force as lights like stars in the sky; a glowing haze of vegetation punctuated by the brighter lights of living creatures, the bright wyverns circling above, and the massive light on the bridge. The magic of this kingdom dwarfed his own, but was now his to tap for his own purposes.

Firmly established, he paused to put his house in order. _Þes túr gebéteaþ ond áfeormaþ!_ A wave of magic washed through the tower to scour it of centuries of accumulated filth; fallen stones jumped into their proper places; the shards of windows reassembled and leapt into their frames, rotted doors regained their health. Now he had a home.

As his next order of business, he needed to find a way to prevent Morgana’s magical spying on Arthur and Camelot to remove her strategic advantage and to make Arthur safe from ambushes. A simple enchantment sufficed to shield an individual from scrying eyes, but in the case of a king, this was pointless; never alone, one would always find someone in his company and easily track him through that person.

Five years ago he had glimpsed a library in passing, and he hoped it contained at least a few books to increase his magical knowledge; the reality exceeded his wildest expectations and contained more magical knowledge than he could absorb in a century. With gleeful determination, he set in for long days and nights of reading, skimming through the ancient texts with a relish that would have made Gaius proud, and after a few days of research, he found a few spells to adapt into what he needed.

As twilight fell, the sun teasing the distant horizon, he climbed to the wind-swept summit of the tower where he found a magic circle inscribed at the centre; this he stood in, surrounded by the spires of the tower that reached for the sky like the fingers of a giant hand. “ _Siððan þa fæhðe feo þingode…”_ The runes of the circle flamed into life. “… _sende ic Wylfingum ofer wæteres hrycg ealde madmas; he me aþas swor.”_ He summoned power from the earth; it came to him but weighed heavy, threatening to drag him into the depths; a lesser sorcerer attempting this would have been consumed. “ _Sorh is me to secganne on sefan minum gumena ængum hwæt me galdere…”_ Lightning struck the spires of the tower, adding the energies of the heavens to his own; magic thrummed around and through him, the air shimmered with its density. “ _Hafað hynðo on Albione mid his heteþancum, ærniða gefremed!”_

With a brilliant flash and a thunderous, concussive boom, a surge of magic exploded outward in a rippling swell and pushed over all of Albion like a blanket, settling heavy and rendering blind all forms of magical scrying. Enchantments of this magnitude required an anchor, and as Morgana herself served for Morgause’s sleep spell, the tower would be the anchor for this enchantment, even as it served as the conduit for the energies that powered it.

Now Morgana’s rag-tag troops would pose little threat to Camelot’s formidable army, and he’d left Kilgharrah to watch over the city in case Morgana tried to employ anything more dangerous than mercenaries. With the anxiety for Arthur’s safety that clawed ever present at his insides dulled, he settled in for further long days of magical study.

***

A violent clap of thunder woke Merlin from dreaming of lying entwined with Percival; he opened his eyes to the grey ceiling of his desolate tower, and the dream of arms he’d never be held in again was replaced by the shroud of loneliness that wrapped itself tighter around him every day.

He had fallen into a routine of spending his days studying and taking walks through the kingdom, marvelling at the rapid budding of life, and for a while the newness and wonder of his domain made his heartbreak recede to a dull ache. But as the weeks turned into months, he grew more and more lonely, with little to think about but everything he’d lost and the mistakes he’d made. The kingdom changed to reflect his darkening mood and whereas a short time ago the land had basked in the gentle heat of a perfect spring day, now fat drops of relentless rain drenched everything they came into contact with, drowning the budding life with churning rivers and peaty bogs. Merlin couldn’t bear to watch again as something once beautiful turned dark and angry, and even the joy he’d taken in his magical studies no longer held at bay the depression sinking into him, so he slept, hiding away and turning to his dreams for sanctuary.

The moment he drifted off again another thunderclap jolted him wide awake, so he decided he might as well get up and rose with a sigh; he expected a party of druids to report in to him later anyway.

***

One gloomy day, as he stood by the window watching the rain, he sensed two people entering his domain who he instantly recognised – Percival and Gwaine. Paralysed with anticipation, he remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the horizon although a day would pass before they reached him. What did their appearance mean? Grettir would not have admitted them if they meant harm, but was he infallible? Eventually tearing himself away from the window, he spent most of the next day pacing, unable to sleep or eat, yet incapable of leaving the castle to either meet them or to flee. How did they know Merlin had come here? Had Arthur sent them? Did they plan to arrest him?

Merlin finally spotted them, not more than tiny specs in the distance; Percival approached the tower and Gwaine remained behind. What did this mean? And why was Percival’s light so bright? As he grew closer, Merlin realised with a quiver in his stomach he could no longer feel any place Percival tread, as if he were severing the link between Merlin’s magic and the land.

When at last Percival entered the chamber and stood in front of Merlin again for the first time in a many months, Merlin’s heart jumped in piercing remembrance; he’d forgotten how handsome Percival was, how much Merlin longed for his touch. They stood staring at each other in silence, and Merlin took in the changes in Percival since their disastrous parting; his hair had grown longer, his face covered in stubble, and in place of his red knight’s cloak he wore a simple grey one – did that have significance? And something about him seemed stronger and brighter; Merlin saw no vulnerability in his brilliant eyes, only determination. Merlin wondered if he would defend himself if Percival meant harm, and he concluded that he probably wouldn’t; maybe he’d prove Lancelot wrong and let someone else worry about destiny for a while.

Percival drew his sword, and Merlin took a startled stepped back, the hope he hadn’t realised he’d been holding onto crushed. But Percival merely set it on the floor before taking a tentative step toward Merlin, perhaps gauging his reaction; when he offered none, Percival paced forward with increasing confidence. Merlin winced in confusion and discomfort as Percival’s approach continued to disrupt his magic. Merlin put his hand against Percival’s chest as if that would ward him off; Percival grasped his wrist and held his hand against his pounding heart, and taking one final step, his light entered Merlin’s.

Merlin’s eyes widened and he gasped as Percival’s consciousness followed his magic everywhere it stretched. Sharing his perceptions with another person sent a disconcerting chill across the back of his neck, much like having someone read over one's shoulder, and the strange new sensation of Percival touching his magic left Merlin feeling naked. He hadn’t considered how diffuse his essence had become, as if his magic was normally in a compact ball but had now been flattened into a pancake spread over the kingdom. While every bit as powerful, his strength was dispersed.

He tried to pull away, but Percival held him prisoner in his unbreakable grip and, stuck to Percival’s light, now intertwined with his own, his attempts to gather his magic to himself failed as if trying to wrap a bonfire with paper. He slumped in surrender, perhaps for the first time in his life completely helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to _The Princess Bride._


	22. Reunions

All his life, Percival had seen portraits of King Uther and his image on coins, and this idealised image of a mighty warrior-king gave meeting him in person an unreal quality. Percival didn’t expect the real Uther to be so old, he had no halo of light around his head like he did in all his images, and Percival didn’t expect to tower over him so. The king’s weathered face bore the scars of many hard battles and the etched lines of decades of worry, and his eyes danced with restless energy rather than sitting fixed and placid, staring off into a mythic distance.

Seeing Merlin again was much the same; Percival’s imagination had filled in so many details – vengeful and burning with lightning, or lying crumpled and weeping in a puddle of blood, or not deigning to notice a mere mortal like Percival at all, or, when he couldn’t stop his mind straying to the worst, lifeless upon a bier. Now, here he stood, the same old Merlin, neither vengeful, nor crippled, nor scornful – peering out a window, serene if perhaps wistful, presenting his incomparable profile, far more breathtaking and beautiful than Percival’s mind was capable of imagining or remembering.

Merlin turned from the window to face him, stiff and pale, his face blank – but thank all the gods _alive._ He wore strange clothes, ancient-looking and sumptuous like some antique king’s: an ill-fitting blue jacket embroidered with sprigs of holly in gold thread and a fur-trimmed cloak, creating a striking contrast between his youthful form and his old man’s apparel, a boy playing dress-up with his grandfather’s clothes.

Only the grey light of the overcast sky spilling through tall windows and the fire roaring in the hearth relieved the gloom of the cavernous chamber in which they stood. Like islands in a dreary sea lay signs of habitation – ancient and battered furnishings, a desk, a bed, chests and cabinets, worn, and everywhere books; books in tottering piles, scattered on the bed, set on the mantel, in boxes, open on the floor, balancing on the arms of chairs. Their dusty and musty smell mingled with the sweet smoke of the hickory logs burning in the fireplace and the haunting odour of damp plaster and masonry.

Emotions too overwhelming and complex to process on the spot churned in Percival; he existed in a space somewhere between a dream and déjà vu, and he stood frozen, staring back like a fool – until Merlin’s eyes flitted to Percival’s sword. This tiny gesture wrenched Percival’s guts with guilt and shame; he drew the sword slowly, not wanting to alarm Merlin, but he took a step back anyway, and why should he not after his last experience with Percival’s blade? He laid the sword on the ground and took a tentative step forward, waiting for Merlin’s reaction. When he received only a furled brow, he advanced with slow and easy steps, as if trying to catch an errant rabbit, darkly comical given he was sure Merlin had the power to blast him into a pile of dust with a thought if Percival tried anything.

He had encountered a resistance to his advance ever since they had crossed the bridge, at first faint, no more substantial than a gossamer spider web tickling against his skin. The hindrance had grown stronger and stronger the closer they approached the tower, and now it was like pushing through the branches of an invisible forest. With each step the air sparkled around him, a swarm of manic fireflies, and Merlin winced as if something had been broken; he held up his hand to ward Percival off but his eyes remained their luminous yet mortal blue and Percival would not be deterred.

As Percival drew close he grasped Merlin’s wrist and held it to his throbbing heart, and with his final pace he burst through a barrier; the resistance disappeared, replaced by a strange vertigo, and Percival’s consciousness slammed into Merlin’s and exploded outward. The room faded away and he had the abrupt sensation of being massive, as if his perspective were a bird’s, high above the ground – even higher than a bird: above the clouds, in the clouds, inside the flash and boom of lightning; the winds blew through him and the burning fire of the sun caressed him. But his vantage also raced across the earth and deep underground, submerging into lakes and streams, through roots and into trees, and he sensed the pulsing life of the earth and all her creatures.

But nothing in this transcendent vision compared to Merlin himself. When Hunith had reached inside Percival and touched him, the sensation had been like being enveloped in love; maybe this was what an infant experienced in its mother’s arms. Merlin was much different; more like the shock Percival had received when Merlin touched his sword – not the pain, but the force, a cold shiver burning hot. His essence was immense, oppressive and wonderful; Percival rode an earthquake and a thunderstorm, a colossal being bursting at the seams of a human form, his spirit extending everywhere, flowing throughout the entire kingdom and drawing the energies of his realm back into himself.

Merlin fought to pull away in both body and in spirit – but he hadn’t a chance against the tight grip on his wrist, and Percival wasn’t ready to give up the sensation of touching Merlin’s life force, so he clung tight to him. But the longer Percival remained immersed in Merlin’s tremendous and luminous power, the better he perceived darkened imperfections in Merlin’s energy. When he reached toward a dark stain, the sensation reminded him of extending an arm while riding a galloping horse, the rush of wind making his hand a sail; the spot itself felt of sadness but at his touch the blemish dissolved and he smiled in satisfaction. He found a bigger and angrier imperfection and erased this too. And another and another, but all these spots and wrinkles and stains extended from Merlin and flowed into all the places his magic did, and Percival wondered if Merlin understood how they affected everything they touched, like chunks of metal hurling through a water pipe banging around and cracking it and springing leaks.

Percival wasn’t sure he could fix this; what he’d done so far resembled fishing a small bug out of one's drink with a finger, but what Hunith had done to him had been far more invasive – she had used her energy to filter his, like when you prepare food for an infant by pushing crushed vegetables through a sieve to strain out the pulp.

Percival would have to be Merlin’s sieve. He reached into Merlin’s being with his own, and Merlin’s eyes shot up and met his, wide and wild. “No! Stop! What are you…” If before the energy stream had been wind through his fingers, now the full force of a violent storm blasted him and, plastered by the sick parts of Merlin’s spirit, Percival absorbed his anger, hurt, heartbreak, self-doubt, and above all frustration – burning, towering frustration that threatened murderous violence, terrifying to them both.

Percival struggled to take in all this darkness and disperse it with his light, but he realised he’d made a terrible mistake; this was far from what had happened with Hunith. She had waded knee deep in a river and swept out the sediment; Percival stood at the edge of an ocean with a colossal wave bearing down on him threatening to pulverise him.

But Merlin stopped resisting, melted against him, and surrendered control,  and like so many waves that loom overwhelming as they approach, this one reached him harmless. A tipping point had been reached; now Percival’s light more than matched the darkness, and the skies calmed and the earth ceased its convulsive and chaotic growth and returned to a more natural balance.

Merlin tilted his head up and glared at him with lust-darkened eyes that soon lit up with gold light and hurled Percival to the floor; with a wave of a hand and a word, their clothing fell away and Merlin fell upon him and rode him with noisy and violent abandon and, as in the romance Percival had secretly appropriated from the library, the earth shook, the sky flashed with light and flowers bloomed, except in this case it was literal.

***

Blazing daylight streaming through the windows struck Percival, and his eyes fluttered open as he woke. They lay entwined on the floor atop their clothing, Merlin’s face buried in his neck, his breath tickling Percival’s skin. Normality left him empty after the fantastical sensations he had experienced immersed in Merlin’s magic, but to be with Merlin like this, intimacy he thought he’d lost forever, was compensation enough. He took in Merlin’s warmth, his sweet scent, his smooth and perfect skin, traced his finger through the splash of hair on his chest and down that enticing trail…

A hissing snore came from behind Merlin. Percival raised his head and gulped, disturbing the sleep of two wyverns lying in an alcove some twenty feet away. He froze; the wyverns regarded him with fleeting interest before laying their heads down and returning to their slumber. He shook Merlin awake.

“Mrrm. What?”

“There are wyverns sleeping in your room.”

Merlin murmured, less than half-awake, “They won’t bother you if you don’t make any sudden movements. They don’t like that. Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can sleep with wyverns watching me.”

Merlin rubbed his eyes and gave him the heartrending smile that made Percival desperate to kiss him, but he didn’t know where they stood despite what they had just done. Merlin answered this by kissing him first. “You came for me.”

The reminder of their parting tightened Percival’s chest. “Merlin, that night… I left you for dead. I’m so—”

Merlin interrupted with a firm shake of his head. “Don’t, Percival. You were in shock – too much to take in at once. It was my fault, I lied to you and hid who I was from you.” Percival opened his mouth to object but Merlin cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about the past. You’re here now, that’s all I care about.” _Shoo, go outside._

Percival frowned. “What?”

Merlin jumped. “You heard that?”

Percival flinched as the wyverns rose and headed out the door. “Heard what?”

_Geoffrey is a fat old pervert._

“Merlin!” He glared at Merlin for this outrageous statement but soon his eyes widened as he realised Merlin’s lips hadn’t moved. “What’s going on here?”

Merlin shrugged and frowned. “Many sorcerers can send thoughts to someone else, but only to other sorcerers or magical creatures like the wyverns. Maybe you can hear me now as a side-effect of all that happened?”

Percival shook his head and massaged his brow. Strange had become the new normal. “Merlin, was all that…” He gestured to indicate everything he’d experienced since he entered the chamber. “…what magic is always like for you?”

Merlin smiled. “No. Only in this place. The Perilous Lands are a part of Albion, but not in the same way Camelot is. Imagine it as a hidden closet; if you’re standing in the closet with a lantern, the light is very bright and dominates everything – but if you take the same lantern outdoors into the night, it’s but another point of light in a vast darkness. If I could be like this at home, we would never have to worry about Morgana again. But how did you know where to find me?”

“It was Gwaine’s id… oh my God, Gwaine! I left him outside! What’s happ—”

“He’s fine. I can sense him, he’s fine.” Merlin gave Percival an innocent look. “He can wait another hour, don’t you think?”

***

The dying day dressed the trees in shadows and as they swayed in the chill wind their branches grabbed for Vallaun as she approached Morgana with slow and careful yet wobbly, jittery footsteps. Whispering shapes crawling among twisted roots and undergrowth invaded the edges of her vision; they hid when she snapped her head to face them, only to return, mocking, the moment she looked away. The silent flashes splitting the ashen sky startled her and she jumped at the rolling booms that never failed to follow yet always caught her by surprise, winding her tight and feeding her intense fear of tripping that made her clumsy, and if she dropped it…

On cue, a root snagged her foot and her heart stopped beating as she ran-fell forward, struggling to keep upright; Morgana’s eyes widened and a chorus of dissonant gasps erupted behind her but resolved into a harmonious cadence of sighs as Vallaun recovered her balance without falling or dropping her bundle.

Morgana slumped and exhaled, and Vallaun cringed at the mild glare (well, mild for Morgana) her mistress shot her, but Ifor smiled kindly and extended his hands to accept with reverence the bundle Vallaun was most grateful to offer him. Once free of her awful burden she squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deep breaths to calm her frayed nerves and backed away to a safe distance, if such a thing existed.

Morgana turned to face her council, her voice strong and defiant. “I know many of you were hesitant to use such magic as this, but we have no choice under the circumstances – Emrys blocks the path to Arthur, and now we have a weapon to smash through this barrier and so the Pendragon stain will be cleansed from Albion forever.”

Vallaun started when Angharad took her trembling hand, but the older woman’s weathered skin reminded her of her long-dead grandmother and gave Vallaun heart.

She wasn’t sure if she preferred this endeavour to fail or succeed – what if they lost control? As if to underscore this, Ifor angled his head toward them without turning or taking his eyes off the bundle, “If something goes wrong, scatter. Hopefully most of us will get away.”

 _Well that was comforting._ Vallaun had been intimately involved in every aspect of this project and she knew better than anyone Ifor was being optimistic. As if reading her thoughts, Angharad squeezed her hand.

Ifor held out the bundle to Morgana, who hesitated for a moment before unwrapping it. Vallaun quaked, her heart pounding. It was only a tooth, and a small one – for a dragon, anyway – not more than a foot long, but even the remains of dragons held an abiding shadow of the terror they held in life. The skeleton of the ancient monster still haunted her dreams; the monster that, when alive, would have been larger and more formidable than even the Great Dragon himself.

Unconsciously her hand strayed to her heart as she considered the stains her soul would bear from the terrible rituals she’d participated in to accomplish this, and prayed the spirits of their victims would one day find peace – and not tarry in this world to exact their righteous vengeance upon her…

They had made a seed from the dragon tooth – nourished and animated with the blood and spirit of the sacrifice using ancient and forgotten magic. Dragons in life are creatures of the air, but in death, of the earth, and in both, of fire. Men though are made of the earth, sustained by and bound to her in both life and death, and all that remained for the seed to germinate was contact with this source.

Morgana cast the tooth onto the ground and backed away.The tooth immediately burned into the earth, throwing up a foul-smelling sulfurous cloud; Vallaun covered her face and coughed, and when Morgana stopped beside her, Vallaun without thinking grabbed her hand; Morgana stiffened for an instant but didn’t pull away – was the mighty Morgana more scared than she let on?

A dark form rose from the ground, indistinct in a whirling cloud of smoke and ash, which in moments resolved into the humanoid form furnished by the blood of the sacrifice; tall, perhaps seven or eight feet in height, armoured with black scales and bearing a massive curved blade like a dragon’s talon, its eyes blazing with the fires that animated it.

The demon stood waiting, emanating a strange sound like the echo of a dragon’s hiss. Morgana detached her hand from Vallaun’s and took a cautious step toward their creation, but it gave no sign of taking notice. If Angharad weren’t squeezing her hand like a vice Vallaun would have fled screaming into the night. She glanced to her right where Diuin and Berdic likewise grasped each other for security.

Morgana stopped outside the reach of the terrible blade, not that this would matter. She attempted a commanding voice but a slight tremor betrayed her fear. “Do you obey me?” The warrior gave her one slow nod. “Can you sense the dragonlord?” It gave another nod. “Then find him and destroy him.”

The monster turned without hesitation and ran off into the forest, the dull thud of its footsteps fading and Vallaun, trembling, exhaled the breath she’d been holding. If the dragon warrior had sensed a dragonlord, then Morgana must be right – Emrys did indeed command the dragon that had destroyed Agravaine.

Morgana turned to face them, standing tall and smiling with fiery eyes.

***

A cool breeze rustled the leaves above them, carrying the pleasant scent of rain and bluebells to offset the morning cold and mist. Percival sat on a log with Merlin on the ground between his legs, stroking Percival's calf. Merlin angled his head up to meet his gaze with soft and shining eyes and Percival bent to kiss him – time to ask Gwaine to go take another long walk.

Reading their minds, Gwaine rolled his eyes. “After we’re done eating, you insatiable deviants!” Percival smiled and reached over Merlin to take a bowl from Gwaine to hand to Merlin, who wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “What? My cooking not to up to his lordship’s standards? Not all of us get to filch off the king’s plate.”

“Sorry, Gwaine – I’m a little queasy all of a sudden.”

Percival grimaced, his chest tightening with a growing sense of foreboding. They had a day before they reached Camelot and need only stay out of trouble a short while longer... “At least drink some water.” Merlin nodded and reached for a water skin but his hand stopped short. Percival frowned. “What is it?”

Merlin turned to face him. “Something’s wrong. This isn’t nausea – remember the night l collapsed? I feel like…” Merlin leapt to his feet, eyes wide. “We have to leave, now. Get up, we haven’t any time!” Percival and Gwaine gawked at him but soon rose to gather their gear. “Leave it! Something’s coming!”

The horses snorted in terror, reared and snapped their reins, nearly trampling Gwaine in their haste to flee and as their hoof beats receded, a loud thumping reached Percival, like something heavy running, growing closer and soon drowning out all other sound and setting the ground shaking. His hairs stood on end as a terrible cry wound around him, something between a serpent’s warning hiss and a ghostly whisper. Gwaine spotted it first and drew his sword seconds before the giant black thing burst upon them and swatted him away as if he were a fly – he flew through the air and landed with a thud and lay crumpled and still.

Merlin rounded on the demon warrior, eyes shining gold. “ _Ástríce!_ ” A burning beam of power left his hand and struck the creature with no effect at all, and without pausing it trotted toward them. “ _Forþ fleoge!_ ” Percival had no idea what Merlin had intended his magic to do but nothing happened and the creature had now commenced a charge at them. _“Ætslide lim!”_ With a loud crack a tree limb snapped off a tree, shot through the air and smashed into the monster hurling it back. “Run!”

“But Gwaine!”

Merlin tugged at his arm as he shot past him. “It’s after me – leave him!”

This went against all Percival’s instincts, but if the creature followed them, the further they ran, the safer Gwaine would be – if he had even survived the monster’s blow. He ran after Merlin.

The demon recovered in seconds and launched after them, gaining fast. “Leave me Percival – save yourself!”

Without replying, Percival swept him up and over his shoulder and sprinted ahead. He had an overpowering sense of déjà vu, but at least this time Merlin would be free to hinder their pursuer with magic, and as he screamed strange words, Percival glimpsed in his peripheral vision objects, logs, boulders, clouds of debris rise shoot off to the rear. Flashes of light cast Percival’s shadows on the trees ahead and crashing sounds and the blast of a powerful wind threatened to overpower his voice. “Is it falling behind?”

“No, but we’re keeping our lead.”

“Merlin, I can’t keep this up. We need to stand and fight.”

“No! There’s a clearing ahead – if we can reach it…”

“What good will that do?”

“Just trust me and keep going!”

Percival could not endure the pace much longer; his lungs screamed and his leg muscles burnt and stinging beads of sweat dripping into his eyes obscured the way ahead. His knees strained under Merlin’s extra weight and only the sheer force of his will kept him going. The ground shook with the thing’s footfalls as it drew closer – not more than ten feet behind them now, almost in sword range. Percival found a last untapped reserve of energy and with several flying paces they burst into a clearing and into the flaming eyes and gaping maw of a gigantic serpent that immediately lunged for them. Percival went cold with a pain stabbing into his chest and as his limbs gave out he dived, shielding Merlin with his body and praying the monster would take only him.

The massive head shot over them and snatched the demon off the ground, shook it like a dog its prey and hurled it through the sky to disappear into the distance. Merlin pushed against him; Percival rolled off him and Merlin rose while he lay panting with his lungs begging for air.

“I wasn’t sure you’d arrive in time.” Was Merlin actually talking to… was that a _dragon_?

Percival started when the dragon answered. “I was already near – as soon as I sensed that monstrosity I came for you.”

“Thank you – you’ve saved me again.” Merlin smiled at the dragon and its head turned to the side in what Percival might swear was a gesture of false modesty.

“It is my honour to help you in any way I can.”

Percival rubbed his eyes, in a daze confronted with this bizarre – unreal scene. Minutes ago, Percival had been about to dig in to a bowl of their last miserable beans, and now, after having been chased by yet another dark horror, they were conversing with a dragon. Is this what Merlin’s life had been like all these years? How had he never noticed? Getting his breath back, he rose to his feet.

Merlin acknowledged the dragon's words with a nod. “Is it dead?”

“It is not, nor is it alive.” The dragon turned his head to face Percival and he had to swallow a stabbing compulsion to flee, but the dragon froze and fixed an expressionless stare on him. Despite its massive and awe-inspiring golden eyes burning into him, something in the dragon’s demeanour suggested holding still as if to avoid alarming a snake crossing one’s path.

Merlin followed the dragon’s gaze to Percival and furled his forehead before turning back to the dragon. “Do you actually practice being cryptic? What was it then?”

The dragon left its gaze locked on Percival as he answered. Why was it looking at him like that? “An abomination. It is a creature spawned by the darkest magic from the remains of an ancient dragon, and it is equally invulnerable.”

Merlin exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “So what do we do?”

“I will deal with the creature, but it may take time.” The dragon’s gaze still had not budged from Percival – was it considering his suitability as a meal? “Who is your friend?”

Merlin frowned, glancing between Percival and the dragon. “Uh, this is Percival.”

“It’s an honour.” Percival forced himself to take a step forward intending to bow and the dragon flinched. Merlin’s eyes shot wide and now he too gaped at Percival.

“ _This_ is Percival?” The dragon turned its gaze on Merlin for a moment before resuming his disturbing stare at Percival.

Merlin blinked in confusion. “Yes… is something—”

The dragon reared on its haunches and Percival had never come closer to screaming as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. It spread its wings. “I must go – the creature returns. Your steeds are not far to the north.” He launched into the air and Percival staggered in the back draught; he threw one arm around Merlin to anchor him and shielded his face from whirling debris with the other.

Merlin’s eyes followed the dragon as it flew over the treetops and out of sight. “That was very strange.”

Percival stood awash in astonishment. Why would such a mighty creature be afraid of him?

*** 

Merlin’s breath hitched as he spotted Gwaine’s crumpled form right where he had landed after the monster struck him. He lay on his side facing away, with no visible movement of his chest; Merlin’s heart rose into his throat as he ran to him and threw himself to his knees at his friend’s side. He reached out, hesitant to touch him before he discovered the extent of his injuries. Blood dripped from Gwaine’s mouth, a tell-tale sign of severe internal damage and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking and unable to breathe _.  
_

A loud noise sent him flinching back with a skipped heartbeat. A snore. Merlin wilted and barked a laugh, and smacked Gwaine in the head. “Wake up, you lout!”

“Wha? Whazzit? Argh! Something broken…” Gwaine winced and grabbed his side. His eyes darted around the clearing. “Where’s Percy?” 

Merlin shut his eyes and sighed; the blood appeared to be from a split lip. “He’s fine – he went to round up the horses.” 

Gwaine nodded. “Hurts… ribs, Ahh! Arm too…” He gave Merlin a beseeching frown. “Can you…?” 

Merlin’s oft-abused ribs twinged in sympathetic pain, but he also twinged with something _less_ than sympathetic. “Can I _what_? Use the magic you’ve known about all these years?” 

“Yes, Merlin, can you please use the magic you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about all these years?” 

“Maybe it would hurt less if you were a frog.” Merlin surprised himself with his petty resentment – but _six years_ of loneliness and suffering in silence that Gwaine could have helped him bear… yet he was self-aware enough to realise he had only himself to blame. Well, maybe 75:25 his blame to Gwaine’s.

“Merlin, can we get into this later, preferably over a drink or three?” 

Merlin sighed, shaking his head, and remembered what happened when he’d healed himself while laying similarly crumpled. “I’m going to turn you on your back.” He gently rolled Gwaine over and laid his hands over his chest. “ _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!”_

Gwaine paled and grunted, but soon his colour returned and he grinned. “Oh! Hey, that felt really good! Tingly. This almost makes up for you sending your magic kingdom into an orgiastic frenzy leaving me to be gang-raped by little woodland creatures.” 

Merlin’s cheeks burned as he grimaced. 

*** 

The trio rode hard to Camelot, pausing only to rest the horses and they reached the city late into the night, tired and sore, their mounts lathered with sweat. Merlin’s stomach churned as they rode up the eerie deserted streets, the silence disturbed only by the occasional cries of fighting cats and the tinkling of lazy wind-chimes dancing in the breeze. His heart throbbed as they approached the citadel; he had been gone for many months and he couldn’t even guess how Arthur would react – happy, furious, stupefied, demand an immediate explanation, suspect him of being an imposter? And what about his secrets? He longed to unburden himself of all his lies, but their daunting scale made predicting Arthur’s reaction difficult. 

Word of their arrival would have raced ahead of them to the palace and they entered the courtyard just as Arthur emerged on the landing in his nightclothes; his eyes fell upon Merlin and he froze, his face blank. Merlin’s heart stopped, but he didn’t have to wait long for a reaction; Arthur took the steps four at a time and Merlin only just had time to dismount before Arthur barrelled into him and enveloped him in his arms, his voice breathless. “Merlin… Oh God, Merlin…I’d given up hope. I’d really given up hope. I can’t believe it… I thought I’d lost you…Thank God, Merlin…” 

Merlin wasn’t sure what he had expected, but certainly not this – Arthur had hugged him only once in ten years, and not in the middle of the central courtyard of the citadel with the guards and stirring palace staff watching. Breathless and light-headed, Merlin hesitated before extending his arms around Arthur as far as he could in that crushing embrace, delighting in the burn of Arthur’s stubble against his cheek even as he suffocated. 

“Arthur… I can’t breathe…” 

“Don’t care.” 

The growing crowd seemed to be restraining itself to anxious murmurs and whispers, giving the king his moment, and Merlin grew self-conscious. “Arthur…” 

Arthur pulled away and held him by the shoulders, his guard down, his eyes misty. For the first time in their entire ten years together, Arthur left naked his vulnerability and love, rather than making Merlin struggle to search between the lines, hoping to find it. And yet, Merlin found his position unbearable, crushed by the fear that those eyes would soon harden with rage and hate when Merlin at last told him the truth. Arthur stroked Merlin’s cheek with a trembling hand. “It’s really you.” 

This was all so strange – his time in Camelot seemed a lifetime ago even though only a few months had passed; yet here was Arthur, in the familiar clothes Merlin had dressed him in countless times, with his usual sleep-tousled hair, knights in their Pendragon-red cloaks, the long-missed sights and smells of a bustling castle. It was overwhelming. “I’m afraid so.” 

Arthur’s face lit in a dazzling toothy smile and he threw his head back and laughed, grabbed Merlin again, lifted him off his feet and twirled him around, and they were mobbed, everyone touching Merlin, slapping Gwaine and Percival on the shoulders, a chaotic display that left Merlin in a daze. 

Arthur raised his hands and whistled for attention, and the hubbub subsided. “We have an urgent matter to attend to.” Arthur borrowed a sword from a guardsman. “Percival, on your knees.” Merlin spun around to find him and wondered how he witnessing Arthur’s effusive greeting had affected him, but he held a controlled and solemn expression as he approached and knelt at Arthur’s feet. Arthur smiled as he raised the sword and dubbed him. “You are redeemed and restored to all your previous honours. Arise, Sir Percival.” Percival rose and Arthur clasped his hand. 

Merlin only had time to give Percival a proud and happy smile before the festivities resumed with a chorus of cheers and it was some time before Merlin had a chance to pull Arthur away for a moment of privacy. Smiling, Arthur took both of Merlin’s hands in his and Merlin revelled in this uncharacteristic contact while he could – because it was about to end. “Arthur, there are things I need to tell you.”

Arthur searched Merlin’s eyes, and he nodded. “All right, Merlin. But not now. Go and rest – tomorrow Princess Elena arrives and after we’ve greeted her, my day is all yours.” 

“But—” 

“Tomorrow, Merlin.” Arthur smiled and squeezed his hands to take the edge off the command. 

Merlin gave him a reluctant nod and angled his head away smiling as Arthur ruffled his hair. He took only uneasy relief from his reprieve; while anxious to go surprise Gaius and consult with him about Morgana’s activities, he feared Camelot was vulnerable – what if that _thing_ got away from Kilgharrah and came for Merlin here? His scry-blocking enchantment made it impossible to use magic to scan for danger, but he still had mundane allies to employ, so before he went to bed he would summon barn owls to patrol the Camelot environs as a precaution. 

*** _  
_

 _Arthur reached the summit and from this vantage, he beheld the surrounding landscape, blasted and alien, far into the distance._

Morgana had arrived on the mountaintop. Clouds covered the sky and pulsed with lightning. 

_Lightning and thunder flashed and boomed, and fire fell from the sky, crashing to the ground in massive earth-shaking explosions._ _This wondrous and terrifying vista reduced him to insignificance – and yet all this was for him._ _His ring grew brighter and hot, and he had no idea what he should do, but feared the wrong choice would destroy him._

Ahead of her, Merlin stood in the middle of a circle of great standing stones holding a mask in front of his face, crafted in the form of a hare’s head with a gaping mouth and dark eyeholes; her chest tightened and she gasped. 

“Merlin, stop it!” _  
_

_Ahead loomed a circle of great standing stones, and in the middle stood a man, his face hidden in shadow, and at the sight of him a sudden awareness struck Arthur cold to the core._

Merlin remained silent and still. When she reached him, she pulled at the arm holding the mask until it fell away, and she realised this wasn’t Merlin at all, but a stranger wearing a blood red Merlin mask. _  
_

_The man reached toward him and Arthur wanted to scream, hide. The ring burned white hot, seared Arthur’s flesh; he tried to pull it off but the effort made him lose his balance and he fell, plummeting to the rocky ground far below.  
_

She ripped off the mask and gasped; the stranger had no face, and a chill stabbed through her as a fierce wind rose, lifting a whirling cloud of dust and the threads of fate tore as he reached for her. 

_He woke with a start._

She screamed and bolted upright. 

*** 

Merlin screeched in exultation as he soared through the clear sky, enjoying the rush of the wind, his stomach turning as he banked, his eyes darting to investigate every sign of movement. Here was Princess Elena’s party approaching the city; there was a squirrel he had to restrain the urge to dive for; here were villagers gathering rhubarb. But nowhere on his patrol had he found any monsters, dangerous beasts, not so much as a stray bandit. He jumped as a bell rang heralding Elena’s entry into the city and he opened his eyes, the perspective of the hawk onto which he had piggy-backed his consciousness fading and leaving only his own dull eyesight. 

Moments earlier, Merlin’s wards had been tripped by something magical passing over them but he paid this no attention; the residue of Sidhe magic in Elena always caused this to happen. He descended the stairs from Gaius’ quarters and entered the central courtyard, admiring the lovely play of light and shadow cast by the late morning sun on this sunny and crisp spring day. 

He bound up the stairs to join Percival, resplendent in polished armour and his Pendragon red, even though Merlin already missed his rougher unshaven look. Arthur arrived in court finery and wearing a diadem, beaming at Merlin. The sunlight crowning his golden head made the diadem dull and superfluous and struck Merlin dumb with the beauty of his gleaming king. Arthur’s eyes shined happy but also anxious; did he fear their upcoming conversation? Merlin's stomach churned and his heart pounded; the moment of revelation fast approached… 

Arthur grasped him by the arms, squinted and inspected his appearance; Merlin gazed down at himself, relieved his court finery still fit well. Arthur nodded. “You look halfway presentable, Merlin.” 

“And you look…” Merlin glanced pointedly at Arthur’s waistline. “…rather robust, sire.” 

Arthur’s arm flew around his neck to put him in a headlock but to Merlin’s disappointment, Gwen forestalled him with a loud throat-clearing, and with a sigh he let go and smoothed Merlin’s jacket. “It’s not horrible to have you back, Merlin.” 

Merlin grinned and leaned closer to respond in a low voice, “I missed you too, Arthur.” Arthur elbowed him away, but his affectionate smile remained. 

As Elena’s party entered the gates, Merlin leaned forward and waved to Gaius, off to Arthur’s left, and the old man grinned back; Merlin took his place to the right of and behind the king, with Percival in a similar position behind Merlin. He reached back for Percival’s hand and smiled at the brief clasp. Despite the coming storm with Arthur and the shadow cast over them all by Morgana, surrounded by all his loved ones, did he dare harbour hope that together they would overcome all obstacles? 

Arthur bowed his head as Elena approached. “Welcome back to Camelot, princess!” 

Elena glanced at Merlin and her eyes widened and flashed with anger, but she soon recovered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Percival squeezed his shoulder in warning just as Merlin realised he sensed rather more than trace Sidhe magic. He focused his attention on Elena, who had something odd and transparent about her; just as he recognised this, the world began to move in slow-motion and soon stopped entirely. But the continued fluttering of the flags in the breeze soon indicated that it wasn’t the world freezing but the people around him, and Merlin heard crashes resounding from both within and outside the castle as people caught mid-step fell over. He shut his eyes and cursed himself for his inattention and self-absorption, and he wondered at the cruelty of a fate that couldn’t have given him _just one_ _more hour_. 

Elena smiled in triumph as the illusion melted away. “You’re most gracious – and it’s good indeed to be back, _dear brother_.”


	23. Revelations

Icy fingers clutched at Arthur's heart as Elena's features melted away.

Morgana.

How had this happened? They had nowhere to run, and fighting would almost certainly be futile, but he wouldn’t go down without a struggle. He reached for his sword – his arm didn’t move. _What?_ He crouched to charge at Morgana – his legs didn’t budge. He shouted a command for his knights to rally to him… nothing. The blood drained from his face as he realised he was helpless. With manic desperation he focused every ounce of his will on moving his sword arm – but it was as if he had no muscles; not like straining against bonds, much worse, because straining was _doing something._ His hope shattered. He was paralysed like Sir Ector’s legs after his spinal injury. He could only move his eyes, to see death hurling at him.

Morgana tilted her head, studying him, frowning and tapping her chin with a finger, and she said in a tone both disappointed and clipped with hostility, “How anti-climactic – I didn’t think it would be so easy. And such a pity you won’t be able to beg for mercy before you die.”

Arthur swallowed past a painful lump in his throat. Morgana had won. And Arthur had failed. Failed to defend his kingdom, failed to protect his loved ones, failed his subjects, failed, failed, failed yet again. Camelot would be destroyed, her people enslaved and magic’s corruption would run rampant again. Everything his father had built, everything Arthur had struggled so hard to build upon – all gone, all for nothing; his failure was complete. Nausea roiled his stomach as his cheeks burned with shame and humiliation.

Morgana smirked, no doubt finding in Arthur's eyes the realisation that she had won.

“I don’t think so, Morgana.”

A chill raced up his neck as Morgana’s eyes shot wide and to his right. _What? Merlin? How…?_ Merlin entered Arthur’s field of vision and stepped in front of him, calm, his hands clasped behind his back. _No. No! Merlin, run!_ Arthur screamed in his mind and thrashed inside his useless body. _Run you fool, run! Run! Run! Run!_

Morgana spat her words. “ _Merlin_. I’m going to enjoy your death even more than Arthur’s.” She raised her hand and Arthur’s insides fell, like watching helpless as someone teetered on the edge of a cliff, like the whole night with Scar but compressed into a moment. _Don’t make me watch this. Kill me first. Merlin, why won’t you run_?

“ _Drýlic ætgár beflíeg!_ ” Morgana’s hand blazed white and from it shot a lance of light straight at Merlin. In that instant, Arthur shattered to pieces inside; there was no preparing for what would come next and in his mind’s eye, Merlin’s irritated scowl and his goofy grin were already replaced by vacant dead eyes staring at Arthur in accusation.

The lance stopped short and dissipated, it’s energy spread across some invisible barrier. _Merlin? What was that? What happened? How?_

“Leave now, Morgana. I won’t let you harm him.”

Merlin’s voice – confident, commanding – frightening; it echoed with unnatural resonance throughout the courtyard. And his bearing – even from behind him Arthur felt the aura of power Merlin projected – where was his clumsy manservant? The realisation that Arthur had been keeping locked behind barred doors of his conscious mind now knocked again… _No._

Morgana bared her teeth and a crackling ball of fire formed in her hand. “ _Ácwele!”_ Another chill flooded through Arthur’s veins and again he screamed inside as the fireball shot at Merlin… and burst in mid-air, its fire spreading across the barrier like burning liquid.

The realisation now pounded on Arthur’s door, determined not to be ignored any longer.

Morgana’s face ticked as she clenched trembling fists. “Don’t just stand there you fools, kill him!”

The sea of golden eyes before Arthur was the stuff of nightmares, and the world moved in slow motion as he suffered the awful stomach-dropping vertigo that accompanied unstoppable peril, like crossbows aimed at him or a blow he was too late to parry. He braced for death yet again as a blizzard of fire and magic and light flew at them; the air sparkled with colourful stars, and flame and smoke splashed and danced all around them like burning surf. Merlin did nothing but raise his hand and the invisible wall held all the tumult at bay. The realisation battered down the door and Arthur went numb as his mind cleaved in two, split between fitting all the puzzle pieces together and sweeping them off the table. _No._

Morgana’s eyes lit with understanding, but Arthur had arrived ahead of her, to the precipice of where his father’s broken spirit had gone after his own daughter had betrayed him.

Morgana shook her head and her arms fell to her sides, her voice a monotone. “It’s you. It’s always been you. _Emrys._ ”

_No.  
_

***

Merlin winced inside at Morgana’s damning words, and even immobile, Arthur’s presence behind him felt like a sword swinging at his neck – but Merlin struggled to push aside the heavy weight spinning in his chest; the die was cast, and there was no going back and, given the odds, it might not matter anyway. Morgana he could deal with; but a dozen sorcerers... Yet his shield, though buckled, had held and he was sure it would continue to.

Merlin started as Gaius spoke in his mind: _The man on Morgana’s right is Ifor – beware, he’s highly skilled and powerful. To his right is Diuin, also very strong. I see the seer Angharad, and I don’t recognise the rest._

“I won’t warn you again, Morgana. Leave. Now.”

Morgana laughed, shaking her head, and for a moment Merlin caught a glimpse of the old Morgana, the Morgana that might have been. “All this time it was you, right in front of me. I’ve even had you in my power…” Her face dropped, darkening as all traces of levity left her voice. “And you knew what was happening to me – you could have helped! You could have protected me. But instead you _poisoned_ me.”

The years that had passed and all of Morgana’s sins couldn’t soften the impact of those words. “You know I had no choice—”

“No choice? You’re a coward! You watch while our kind are slaughtered like animals and never lift a finger! All the while hiding at the heart of Camelot, pulling the strings, sending your dragon to do your dirty work or running around as that ridiculous old man.”

Merlin’s heart crumbled at the twisted truth of her words and he shut his eyes for a moment to mourn the death of Arthur’s love for him. There could be no forgiveness now.

“Merlin the manservant, mighty sorcerer and dragonlord—”

Merlin tensed as his anger flared bright. “Enough, Morgana! Don’t you think I blame myself every day for what’s happened to you, for all of my mistakes? I was only a scared boy! _You_ at least might have hoped for Uther’s mercy – you well know what he would have done to _me._ I’m sorry I failed you, I truly am, but no one forced you down this path!”

Morgana’s voice grew cold and quiet, her gaze piercing. “But you haven’t been a boy for some time now, have you?”

Merlin shook his head and sighed, exhausted by this pointless discussion. “No. I suppose sometimes fear becomes a habit. Just go, Morgana. You don’t have the power to get past me.”

“Perhaps not.” She lifted her arm, and at the signal her followers withdrew long ivory objects from their bags and hurled them to the ground before scuttling away. Were those teeth? Whatever they were, they burned into the ground, obscuring Morgana in a cloud of sulphur, and whirlwinds of ash shrouded all-too familiar forms rising from the earth. His heart raced and his insides clenched – he’d been unable to stop _one_ of these creatures, let alone a dozen. He reached with his mind for Kilgharrah, but the dragon must be either too far away for him to even sense – or worse. Even so, Kilgharrah had already given them a weapon that held the power to destroy the indestructible – but did Percival have it in him to wield it? If not, this would be a short fight. _Percival – try to get Arthur’s sword. Then wait till I give the word.  
_

Merlin took a step forward praying he looked more confident than he felt and murmured a glamour to hide Percival’s movements as he moved to the side away from Arthur; any sorcerer would see through his obscuring illusion, but with any luck their attention would be fixed on Merlin and Percival would approach the king undetected. 

As Percival made his move the smoke and ash subsided to reveal a black phalanx of flame, bone, and scale, their breath roaring fires punctuated by harsh, guttural hissing, like furnaces letting off foul steam. They radiated a palpable _wrongness_ and Merlin sensed nature howling in outrage at this profane violation of the balance of the world. Any one of these demons could destroy the entire army of Camelot and give a mighty dragon trouble. Would even Excalibur harm such beings?

Morgana’s eyes gleamed as she smiled, her chin high. “We knew Emrys stood between us and our goal, lurking, hidden – so we needed to find a weapon to lure him out into the open and destroy him. Your power is impressive _, Emrys_ , but as you see I have brought a rather formidable army.”

 _Now, Percival._ “So have I.”

They say no evil can live in the presence of a bell, and the deafening ring of Excalibur as Percival drew the sacred weapon caused the dragon warriors to stagger back, its oscillating reverberations drowning out all sound as he raised the sword high to catch the beams of the sun. The blade shone with brilliant, blinding light, and the warriors hissed and shrank away, shielding their eyes. Armour gleaming and lit as bright as Excalibur, Percival took a flying leap from the stairs and Merlin gasped as a shiver coursed through him; for an instant he saw not a man but the avenging angel of Albion, descending in righteous fury to cleanse her of abomination. Swinging the sword in a great arc, Percival cut clear through a pair of the demons and they shuddered, their magic disrupted, and with chilling, roaring screams they were consumed in the fire that animated them and dissolved into flaming ash.

Merlin took advantage of the momentary distraction. “ _Bebiede þe arisan cwicum_!” With a creak of metal the equestrian statue at the base of the stairs turned its head toward him. “ _Bregdan anweald gafeluc_!” Its lance burst into blue flame. “Charge!”

The statue raised its lance in salute and, lowering it to charging position, leapt off the pedestal and landed with an earth-shaking clang and plunged into the dragon warriors, scattering them across the courtyard.

 _Ic þe bebiede, dinne cume!_ Thunder rumbled large and threatening in the distance heralding an oncoming storm. He aimed for Morgana, “ _Ástríce!”  
_

Ifor jumped in front of her. “ _Scildan!_ ”

Merlin’s blast struck the shield with a burst of light; Ifor grunted and staggered back, while Morgana raised her arms high in outrage and snarled and enchantment. “ _Nædre breodwe!”_ A giant snake emerged from between her hands and twisted its way toward Merlin, its hiss as loud as a lion’s roar, its fangs dripping venom and, looming over Merlin, the apparition drew back to strike.

Merlin threw up a hand. _“Fífalde,_ _flicore ondrysnlioe!”_ A chrysalis of light materialised over Merlin and cracked open, and from it emerged a colossal butterfly, the furious beating of its massive multi-coloured wings stirring clouds of debris as his conjuration dived at Morgana’s serpent and engulfed it; together they spun into a fast-shrinking ball and disappeared.

The immediate threat dealt with, Merlin glanced to his left – sparks flew with each clash of blades as Percival parried the heavy blows of a dragon warrior; he appeared to be holding his own, but he’d soon have more than one opponent. Merlin determined to push further into the fray; creating a personal magic shield for himself, he left his frozen friends walled inside the other, hoping they’d be safer that way if anything broke through his defenses, and he stepped forward toward the melee.

At Morgana’s screeched command, a warrior broke away from the clash with the iron knight and charged at Merlin. By reflex he raised his hand to block a powerful overhead swing; the demon’s sword crashed into his shield and the cracks and splinters this created shone like spider webs of light – and again, and again. He maintained and regenerated the shield but this drained valuable energy and attention he needed to direct at Morgana and the sorcerers.

Percival now faced two warriors; with practiced grace he swung, dodged, parried, more skilled and nimble than the hulking monsters but he grunted under their powerful blows and bloody wounds marred his armour and flesh. Merlin’s chest tightened; Morgana’s warriors would never tire, but Percival’s mortal body wouldn’t last long under this onslaught.

The momentary distraction of checking on Percival proved costly as Diuin obtained a clear line of sight and a blast of ice struck and coated Merlin’s shield blocking his view and he rushed to pull together a counter before Morgana took advantage of his blindness. _“Brandhát tídrén!”_ A shower of hot rain soaked his shield and threw up a cloud of steam. _“Bene læg gesweorc!”_ The steam curled into a cloud of mist around Morgana and her followers and their forms faded to shadow in the gauzy haze before the mist thickened into an undulating blanket thick as fleece, obscuring her and her allies. In this brief reprieve, he ripped up the flagstones under the monster assaulting him and upset its balance, knocking it over.

A third warrior appeared at Percival’s exposed side and swung; shifting his perception to follow the blade in slow motion, Merlin threw a magical barrier in its path. The sword shattered his barrier in a shower of sparks but, not expecting its swing to be arrested, the demon left itself vulnerable and Percival drove Excalibur into its chest. With another horrible scream, it too dissolved into burning cinders. Percival met his glance and nodded with a broad smile.

A blast of wind swept away the fog and the rain of magic resumed against him. Morgana had a keen tactical mind and had fast divined his weakness: all his power meant little if she overwhelmed his merely human powers of concentration. She sent a warrior to pound the shield around his friends, whilst he struggled to maintain his own shield and defend Percival against the magical attacks the sorcerers now also threw towards him. Merlin couldn’t keep this up forever – the situation appeared hopeless.

Meanwhile the poor iron knight had suffered considerable damage; it hadn’t the power to destroy Morgana’s warriors and with chunks torn out of it and its steed hobbling on three legs, it wouldn’t long serve as a distraction. The knight soon sank and disappeared in a mass of dragon warriors and the loud clang of metal hitting the ground signalled the end; its head rolled across the pavement and stopped at the base of the stairs. “I’m sorry I let you down, Master.”

“You did your best.” But now he was in trouble. The four warriors turning from the remnants of the knight would soon be upon him and Percival. Bolts of fire and energy hurled across the courtyard and some of their heat and fire singed him through cracks in his defenses as he struggled to maintain them against the overwhelming onslaught of punishing blows from the dragon warrior. The constant barrage of attacks weakened him and left him no time between blows to strike back at Morgana. They were just too badly outnumbered.

Merlin glanced at Percival and sucked in his breath and a heavyweight fell into his stomach. Now sodden with blood streaming from the terrible damage to his mangled body, Percival staggered and fell to his knees, not quite managing to parry a vicious blow and he cried in pain as a blade drove deep into his shoulder.

_“Percival!”_

With a shout and a surge of magic Merlin dislodged a gargoyle from the roof and hurled the massive sculpture at the warrior attacking him and smashed it to the ground, hoping to get to Percival in the respite – but he sensed Percival’s life draining away, now beyond saving. With the dragon soldiers converging on him and running out of options, he blasted them with a powerful wind but this did little but slow their advance. His eyes filled with tears as he realised his failure would drag everyone he loved into death with him. _Arthur – I’m so sorry.  
_

For a brief moment, the noise of the battle seemed to fall silent and absent around him, and Merlin glanced across the courtyard, his eyes locking onto Percival’s to find his own desperation, despair, regret and love reflected back at him. _I never even told him I loved him._

Merlin screamed as a crushing blow knocked him crashing to his knees; he curled into a ball, now feeling the physical force of the blows on his body through his dying shield, and all he could think was he was sorry Percival would have to watch him die like this.

But with a last burst of heroic effort and animated only by his will, Percival rolled away from a powerful overhead blow that would have severed his head and recovering his feet he swung Excalibur in a screaming arc to cleave through the exposed side of the warrior, sending it roaring to a fiery destruction. Merlin read Percival’s determination to reach his side, but a furious snarl from Morgana echoed across the courtyard. “ _Ic þe bebiede þæt þu gebricest nu!_ ”

“Morgana, no!” Ifor lunged for her but it was too late. The air shimmered as a powerful bolt of magic flew from Morgana’s hands; Merlin felt the intense strength of Morgana’s curse and braced himself as it struck Excalibur.

The world grew deathly silent and reality, all save Excalibur, twisted and distorted with nauseating and vertigo-inducing violence, stretching to the breaking point like a bowstring pulled beyond endurance, and snapped back with deafening feedback and sent a powerful shockwave hurling all the combatants away, leaving upright only Merlin, braced for impact, and Percival, unaffected at the epicenter.

Thanking the gods for Morgana’s temper, Merlin quickly gathered his energies, drawing power from deep within himself; the storm clouds he’d called now covered the sky and he drew their crackling power to him. He regenerated the critically weakened shields around both himself and his friends and reached back with his magic. “ _Ábregdan!”_ With brute force he punched a hole through Morgana’s enchantment to pull Gaius free.

 _Gaius, do what you can._ Morgana and her sorcerers had concentrated their shields to protect themselves from Merlin’s direction but he hoped Gaius, off to the side, would take them by surprise. _  
_

Merlin launched to the offensive, determined to make the most of this second chance as Morgana’s forces staggered back to their feet. _“Hleap on baec!”_ Morgana shot backwards, tripped and fell with a grunt. He redirected the wind he’d sent against the dragon warriors to batter the sorcerers at Percival’s end of the line and they stumbled back under the force of the howling blast.

Gaius whispered an enchantment, but the words of power resonated in Merlin’s mind. “ _Ic þe sícle þin licsare!”_

Merlin frowned at the strange yet familiar words and realised Gaius had reversed a healing spell. The man standing to the right of Diuin shuddered, raised his hand to his face, wiped the blood dripping from his nose, his concentration broken and Merlin took immediate advantage. _“Forp fleoge!”_ The sorcerer shot into the air as if fired by a catapult and cleared the citadel walls. Diuin now recovered from his shock – and he too had heard Gaius’ enchantment and turned on him snarling, hand raised, but now riding his second wind, Merlin moved faster. _“Légetu ástríce!”_ Lightning flew in an arc from his hand, struck Diuin’s shield and punched through it like glass, the streaming energy hurling him across the courtyard to slam into the far wall; his blackened, broken body fell smoking to the ground and the sickening smell of burnt flesh and hair filled the plaza.

Ifor hurled blast after blast at him, Morgana had risen and the others followed, and the dragon warriors now resumed their advance. Percival had fallen to his knees, swaying and struggling to cling to life, and despite this brief resurgence, Merlin realised they would inevitably be overpowered again.

He recalled what he’d told Percival about the lantern in the closet. But why did he need to be merely a point of light in a vast darkness? If the darkness is vast, you need a bigger lantern. This wasn’t the Perilous Lands, but Merlin still touched the pulse of the earth, the restless energy of the skies, the magic of the world that flowed everywhere and in everything – and how fine the line between all this and himself. He didn’t _have_ magic, he _was_ magic, his power limited only by his imagination. _“Ic bíede heofonfýr!”_ Lightning blasted down from the sky in blinding torrents and engulfed him; _“Gestrenge me nu þæt ic beo swiþe mihtig hie to forwiernan!”_ He drew the strength of the earth into himself and his weakness melted away. The vibrant song of his magic, so massively augmented by the voices of nature, intoxicated him and he would have more, even if some discordant notes had crept into the chorus – so he reached for the top of the sky and the roots of the world and pulled the energies of it all into himself. _Now_ he had light to illuminate all the vast darkness.

_Now let my enemies despair._

***

 _Holy mother-fucking shit._ Percival wasn’t kidding about Merlin being powerful – this was fucking terrifying. Merlin stood with his arms outstretched, bathed in lightning, and Gwaine’s head spun with a sickly weakness as energy eddied about him on the way to being sucked into Merlin. The flowers in Gwen’s arms withered and fell away, the moss between the flagstones blackened, and a bird fell dead from the sky and beaned him. _That can’t be good.  
_

*** _  
_

Gaius’ old heart ached as his body went cold – this was wrong. Merlin was playing with forces on a scale he clearly didn’t understand; to disturb the balance of the world to this degree would be disastrous, to the balance and to Merlin alike.

Merlin’s form blurred before resolving at Percival’s side and he grabbed the wrist of a demon, arresting it’s strike at the helpless knight, and hurled it like a toy amidst the other warriors, scattering them. Merlin raised his hand, and his voice was thunder and crashing surf and the trembling of the earth.

_“ÞURHBREGDAN.”  
_

The flagstones of the plaza crumbled away under the dragon warriors to reveal a strange vista; a hazy horizon separated pitch-blackness above from what looked like ice drifting on a blue sea below; but under the ice were glimpses of green and Gaius understood – not ice, but clouds as viewed from far, far above. The demons fell and soon cast off a red glow, trailing plumes of fire as they descended, and brightened into a flashing white, shedding stars of light that trailed their own fire. The burning forms grew ever smaller in the distance as they plummeted, and when they disappeared from view, the flagstones reassembled and the portal closed as if it had never existed.

***

Vallaun clasped her wrist to control her trembling and turned to Morgana, who stood shaking her head as if in denial that the ground had just closed up after swallowing the dragon teeth warriors. Her gaze flitted back to Merlin who placed his hand on his bloody knight’s head.

 _“HEAÐUGLEMMA IC I ÁBÆDE.”_ The knight’s wounds vanished and reappeared on Merlin, coating his face with streaming blood before they closed up.

He stepped forward and at his footfall, a tremor shook the earth with a deep rumble. Vallaun and her fellows recoiled at Merlin’s demonic appearance, his face a red mask of blood and his eyes black with the death he had taken into himself. While still but the size of a man, his presence had grown massive, towering, darker and more terrifying than an angry dragon. Crying and unable to control her shaking, she closed her eyes and awaited the end.

***

Arthur fell into a dizzying vortex of déjà vu at the sound of Merlin’s voice.

_Ahead loomed a circle of great standing stones, and in the middle stood a man, his face hidden in shadow, and at the sight of him a sudden awareness struck Arthur cold to the core. The man reached toward him and Arthur wanted to scream, hide._

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to try to clear away the vision, but he could no longer escape the image his mind had refused to remember. How could he have been so foolish to fall prey to this monster so easily? So willingly? Despite all the previous betrayals he’d suffered, he’d never understood his father’s fear and isolation, his inability to trust or to share of himself. Until now.

 _“FORBIERNAN.”_ Merlin swept his arm across the plaza and with terrifying inhuman screams that would replay in Arthur’s nightmares for the rest of his life, the sorcerers burned to ash drifting in the wind.

Only Morgana had been spared; Merlin advanced on her and Morgana scrambled away, pale and shaking, futilely hurling spell after spell at him, each sputtering away before reaching him. They circled each other and while Morgana cowered, stumbling backward crying in terror, Merlin wore a predatory smile, sleekly stalking as he circled like a cat playing with its food, paying no heed to the lightning caressing his body like a lover; each strike rendered his flesh transparent and exposed the skeleton beneath, his skull a grinning death’s head with blazing golden eyes, and the withered moss between the flagstones ignited under his tread.

_There is nothing human about him.  
_

***

Morgana tripped and fell to the ground; trying to retreat further was pointless and she sat on her knees as her heart beat in her throat, still trying to grasp this terrible reversal and the shattering of her grand design.

She glanced at Percival; when Merlin had taken the doomed knight’s injuries onto himself and advanced on her, his face a red mask of blood, his eyes black with death, she had finally understood the terrible figure of her nightmares; a mask within a mask – Emrys hiding in plain sight this whole time.

The death had gone now, exchanged for the lives of her followers – friends. This was sacrilege – even as a high priestess she would never dare such an unholy usurpation of divine power. “You can’t control life and death!”

Merlin gave her the smile of a serpent preparing to swallow its victim whole. _“I CAN.”  
_

“The old religion—”

“ _I AM THE OLD RELIGION_.” His eyes flashed and now the threads of destiny surrounded them, connecting all of them – everyone, everywhere in a massive web of shining ethereal strands extending to infinity.

Merlin spoke in her mind. _So fragile._ He grabbed a nearby strand and tore it to float adrift until it randomly attached to another. Absently as he spoke, he tore a second. _What need have I for kings to build Albion? Now I_ am _Albion._

Another torn thread cast Morgana into a waking dream and she viewed the future as it was being rewritten; their god-king sat upon his throne, reigning over a world of perfect harmony; violence would be impossible without free will and everyone would be safe embalmed in uncompromising order, a path of stagnation, degeneration and extinction.

She screamed.

***

“Merlin.”

A hand fell on his shoulder and Merlin spun to face Percival and met his wide eyes, their blue even more radiant in his blood-streaked face. He frowned at the dawning realisation that something was wrong. He glanced back at Morgana; many threads connected Merlin to her as their destinies were so tightly linked and more still tied him to Arthur, but he shared none with Percival. He took a step back. Percival shared none with _anyone._ Is this what had alarmed Kilgharrah? How could a man exist outside fate?

“Merlin?” Percival’s gentle and concerned voice dispersed the vision of the web of fate. “You need to let go now. It’s over.”

“Why would I do that? Now I have the power to end all strife and suffering forever.”

“But you can only do that with force.”

“If need be.”

“Force can only destroy, Merlin, not build. You’ve told me of the balance of the world and now you’re planning to throw away the scale. Nobody is meant to have power like that. Look what you’re doing to yourself.”

Merlin peered inside himself and found a discoloration – a faint, sick greyness, darkening and spreading. Could anyone wield this much power without being corrupted, even with the best of intentions? The darkness in his soul had poisoned the Perilous Lands; would he repeat that failure with the wider world if he took this path? This was the path of fear – Uther’s path, not his.

He held the borrowed power churning in him like pulling on an enormous number of bowstrings; he had the strength to hold them all, but they wanted to snap back. And so he let go and the magic returned to the earth and escaped into the sky, leaving him both empty and relieved of a burden. The skies began to clear, his eyes faded to their natural blue, and he was only Merlin again. He gave Percival a weak smile, and Percival smiled back with relief in his eyes.

But he had one more thing to do. He turned to Morgana and with a flash of his eyes he held her immobile. A gemstone hanging around her neck weighed heavy with magic – no doubt the source of the freezing enchantment; it flew into his hand. He shook his head sadly. “I should kill you. But I can’t – you’re right, I failed you. I’m truly sorry for that – and for this.” He raised his hand. _“Scinnlæce diegol cnytte…”  
_

Morgana’s eyes shot wide. “No. Please…”

 _“…hyran scolde, ablinnen…”_ Spasms racked Morgana’s body and her eyes burned gold but faded as he incanted. _“…ic i ásæle þín swíþframu!”_ She collapsed limp, stripped of her magic. Merlin waved his hand over her. _“Þurhbregdan!”_ She disappeared with a flash.

He shut his eyes for a moment, grateful for Percival’s steadying hand on his shoulder. He squeezed the gem in his fist. _“Ic i tóbrice _þes searugimm_!” _ He opened his hand and the dust that remained drifted off in the breeze.

With the destruction of the stone, the enchantment that had frozen Camelot dissipated and Merlin detected faint stirrings behind him; exhales of breath, the rustling of clothing. The silence only added to the already unbearable weight in his chest and, heart pounding, he turned to face the inevitable.

Amid a sea of shocked faces Arthur stood trembling, his eyes glistening and burning with emotion. He took a step forward, and another, walked, strode, ran toward Merlin like a rolling thunderhead. Percival knelt and proffered Excalibur and Merlin couldn’t help stepping backward, but he would not run from this and he dropped to his knees and bowed his head in submission. Arthur snatched the sword from Percival in passing and raised it point down high over his head as he reached Merlin. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut as the blade came down – and plunged into the cobblestones next to him, throwing up a shower of sparks and shaking the earth with a dull boom. A terrible pain stabbed into his magic and he gasped, light exploded in his eyes and his body collapsed forward; his hands only just stopped his head smacking into the cold stone. The silent aftermath was disturbed only by the residual rattling of the windows and a scattering of crashing sounds marked the fall of objects unbalanced by the quake.

Merlin didn’t dare raise his head; Arthur stood unmoving for a moment before he turned and walked away.


	24. Trial

A loud crash startled Merlin out of a deep sleep. He opened his eyes to darkness and a dead leg from the unyielding stone bench that had been his bed for the night. His eyes adjusted and soon a faint light flickered through the bars of his cell before him and everything came tumbling back into focus. The hard stone of the courtyard cobblestones against his knees, a long shocked silence, orders being shouted, Percival calling his name. Being picked up by gentle hands and carried, his arms around Leon’s neck, slipping in and out of consciousness. The cells. The lowest level, where the cold and damp were a never departing companion and not even a hint of daylight ever graced the filthy straw covered floor, nothing but luxury for the worst criminals – and sorcerers… yet someone had left him a pillow. His cell vibrated with a taint of fear, left from the countless people with magic – and without – who awaited their deaths by fire.

“Get out.” Arthur’s voice. “I said get out! Go!”

The sound of clinking mail and several pairs of hurried footsteps faded into the distance.

Merlin jumped to his feet and steadied himself against the wall as his head spun with vertigo and a tingling crept up his numb leg. Only his rapid breaths and pounding heart disturbed the utter silence – a silent minute made to seem much longer by anticipation and, unable to think, he struggled to push away terrible dream images: Gaius’ anguished cries as he burned; Percival and Gwaine hanging from the gallows; Arthur’s bared-teeth sneer as his hands crushed Merlin’s throat…

The light grew stronger as footsteps approached, a flickering orange in the hall outside the chamber; Arthur rounded the corner and stood at the entrance to the cellblock, his face hard yet placid but for a jaw clenched tight, his eyes dark and unreadable in the unsteady light of his torch, and Merlin’s heartbeat raced under his glare. Arthur jammed the torch in the sconce inside the entrance.

At last he spoke, in a clipped and demanding voice he used on the vilest criminals. “Who are you?”

Merlin sighed. “Don’t, Arthur…”

“ _Who are you_?”

So it would be more of the same – Arthur would never accept he could be anything but stupid, clumsy Merlin despite all the evidence to the contrary, even putting aside magic. “Stop it. You know it’s me.”

“Do I?” Arthur stabbed his finger at the floor before him. “Come here!”

Merlin pulled at the bars of the cell door and shrugged. He had no idea what Arthur wanted, but Merlin had no spirit for games.

“Don’t fucking get cute. _Come here! Now!”  
_

What was the point of this? Did he expect Merlin to somehow incriminate himself further? After everything that happened yesterday? He shook his head – even now, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to speak the word. “The door is locked, _sire_.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean!”

“I know _exactly_ what you mean, I’m waiting to hear you say it!”

Arthur’s lips formed a tight line and an angry tremor shook his head; Merlin imagined the sound of his grinding teeth, but the king’s voice remained measured and cold. “I order you to come here, now.”

He sighed. _“Tóspringe.”_ The click and no doubt his glowing eyes made Arthur’s head jerk by reflex. Merlin pushed the door open and Arthur studied him with wary intensity as he approached. Merlin’s eyes flitted to his belt – no sword.

“In the time it takes to draw a sword I’d be dead – but in arms reach, are you fast enough to stop me? Besides, when I kill you I want to enjoy it with my bare hands.” Merlin shrank at these chilling words, hearing again the cracking necks and strangled cries of that terrible night. 

“Here are the rules: I will ask you questions, and you will reply with the truth. If I sense for an instant you’re lying, I’ll break your neck. Do you understand?”

Merlin shut his eyes, a lump in his throat. Arthur threatened to break his neck all the time; but to hear it in seriousness instead of play or irritation brought home everything he’d now lost. He nodded, both saddened and in genuine fear for his life – he had no doubt Arthur meant what he said.

Arthur paused for a moment, his face hard. “Is what Morgana said true?”

Tired irritation overpowered both Merlin’s hurt and sense of self-preservation. “If that’s a test, no, I _can’t_ read your mind, so if you want to know something then just ask properly and stop these stupid games!” Arthur flinched and his body tensed to kill as Merlin raised his voice. This is what they’d come to.

Arthur’s asked in a deliberate tone, “Did you release the dragon?”

Merlin sighed, fatigued and defeated. “I had no choice.”

In a blur the air whooshed out of Merlin’s lungs, his body crushed between the cold hard wall and Arthur’s burning hot and equally hard body. Now certain he wasn’t fast enough to stop Arthur killing him, Merlin flinched his head to the side, shaking and terrified with his eyes squeezed shut, unable to meet Arthur’s flaming glare, so close that Arthur’s rapid breaths left moisture on Merlin’s face. “ _No choice?_ You killed hundreds of innocents and scores of my finest knights!”

Trembling and helpless, he did his best to screw up his courage and turned to meet Arthur’s piercing eyes. “The Knights of Medhir – I didn’t know what to do, how to break the sleeping enchantment, and I couldn’t wake Gaius. So I had to go to the dragon for help and he made me swear an oath to release him. It was Morgana – she was the source of the enchantment. The only thing that would break it was her death.”

“So you poisoned her. It was you. _You_ turned her against me, caused all of this…”

“No! She had already turned against Uther – she was in league with her sister. Morgause came and I gave her the poison in exchange for calling off the knights and ending the enchantment.”

Arthur stepped back and Merlin exhaled, still shaking. “Then the whole time we were searching for Morgana, the year after her return, you knew she was our enemy and you said nothing.”

Merlin blinked and shook his head. “Are you serious? What would Uther have done if I had accused Morgana? And she revealed I poisoned her? What would _you_ have done? I tried to warn you about Agravaine and you threatened to exile me, never mind Morgana!”

Arthur’s eyes unfocused. Merlin let out a heavy breath as he took Arthur’s reaction to be a good thing – it meant he was thinking, putting the pieces together. His gaze returned to Merlin, his eyes pleading as well as angry. “Were you the old man?”

If Merlin could just survive this explanation… “Yes.”

Merlin slammed against the wall again, Arthur’s hand tight around his throat. _“You killed my father!”_

“I tried to save him! I swear I tried! It was Agravaine!”

After a brief pause, Arthur lowered his hand. Merlin sighed and rested his head against the wall, given hope because even in his blind anger, Arthur hadn’t truly hurt him.

“He put a pendant on your father that reversed any healing magic – so when I tried…” Merlin’s eyes grew moist, and he dropped his gaze, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – I should have noticed it, I should have known, I just didn’t think. I didn’t know you told Agravaine that you were planning on using magic. I wanted you to… All I wanted was to show you magic could be used for good―”

Arthur interrupted in angry dismissal. “Just stop it! You’ve shown me nothing but lies and deception!” Arthur shook his head, glaring at the ground. “Have you used magic against me?”

Merlin shut his eyes. “Yes.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped up, and he growled, low and predatory. “How many times?”

Merlin sighed. “I can’t remember all of—”

Arthur huffed a breath, grimacing slack-jawed. “So many times you can’t even _remember_ them all?”

“No… yes, mostly just petty revenge – like tripping you when you tease me.”

“’Mostly just.’ And the other times?”

“Only to protect you, or Camelot.”

Arthur squeezed his hand over his mouth and paced, shaking his head; Merlin shut up and let the wheels turn.

"On the Isle of the Blessed – something stopped me.”

“I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself.”

Arthur clenched his fists. “So you assaulted me and sacrificed Lancelot.”

“No! How can you even say that! He knew I planned to sacrifice _myself_ and he slipped past me when I was confronting the Cailleach! I loved him! I would never—”

Arthur stopped him with a sharp wave of his hand and continued his pacing. “When Morgana and Helios took the citadel – Gaius was treating me, then the rest is hazy. I couldn’t... Running through the forest… Camelot burning – you called me and I abandoned my…” Arthur rounded on him with steel in his gaze. “What did you do to me?”

Here it was. Maybe the worst of all. “When Morgana and Helios… They were at the door. They would have killed you – I didn’t know what to do, you’d never have run. Unless you lost your will.”

Arthur slumped, bowed and shook his head, his voice quavering. “So I’m not the king. You are. I’m the puppet on your strings.”

“No! Arthur I don’t—”

“You made me wash dishes.”

Merlin had forgot about that – another careless act come back to haunt him. “You were already… Look, I had to get you out of Camelot. It was just that once! You know I haven’t controlled you – if that time is what it’s like for you, you know—”

Arthur’s eyes blazed; his enraged shouting made Merlin quake in fear and flinch with every word. “I know _nothing._ I _trusted_ you and you betrayed me. You’re a coward and a _liar_.”

Merlin’s voice shook, pleading. “Arthur…”

Arthur raised his hand and resumed his pacing. “All I’ve ever seen from magic is evil, from the first time a sorcerer tried to kill me in my bed when I was thirteen—“

Merlin snapped his head down, a foolish slip; Arthur halted. Merlin met his eyes, sure that Arthur would read his guilt.

His mouth dropped. “You? How is that even possible?”

“The magic I used to send away Morgana’s demons… I was practicing it in your chambers and accidentally travelled back in time. I used magic to put you to sleep and blur the—”

Arthur threw up his hands, angry-exasperated, a familiar reaction that twisted Merlin’s heart remembering what they used to be like together. “That was you? Merlin, I had nightmares about that for weeks!”

“You tried to kill me! What was I supposed—”

“My father punished me for making the guards check under the bed and in the closets before I went to sleep every night!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” Arthur rubbed his brow. “That sword… the story you told me is another lie. So what is it?”

Merlin sighed. “I didn’t lie, I embellished. That sword was created for you and you alone, forged in a dragon’s breath.”

“Why couldn’t the mercenaries draw it from the ground?”

To be honest, Merlin wasn’t sure. “They hadn’t the power or the right. Only a powerful sorcerer or the rightful king may bear it.”

“And Percival.”

Merlin shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

“Percival.” Arthur combed a hand through his hair. “I saw Percival’s wounds – he was dead on his feet. Nobody could have survived that but you saved him.”

Merlin bowed his head, his voice a whisper. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Arthur’s voice now rose in an angry crescendo, louder with each thought until his shouting hit Merlin like a fist and he flinched with every word. “So then how many people have died because of your cowardice? How many could you have saved? How many of my knights? Your own villagers? Will? _Isolde? The dragonlord?”_

Arthur’s words were a bucket of icy water over his head; it spread like frost through his body, filling his lungs, choking him and blackening his vision, and he had to steady himself against the wall to force breath into his frozen lungs and control the hopeless tears that were so ready to escape. “Don’t you think I wished it worked that way? To save a life, a life must be taken. You _know_ I would have saved those people if I could. But if I let some die it was because _nothing_ was more important than protecting you. All of it was for you Arthur. Always. Don’t you understand, I _had_ to lie, _had_ to hide? I couldn’t protect you if I burned!”

Arthur shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head. He next spoke with a cold and measured voice; at least when he was shouting, Merlin felt an emotional connection to him. Now he sounded like a stranger – a judge at a trial… and perhaps the executioner. “That excuse died with my father. If you don’t realise that, you never trusted me, and you certainly don’t know me. And I clearly never knew you – only a coward lets people die then throws blame on everything but himself for his choices.” Arthur met his gaze, and Merlin found nothing there but steel. “Before now I never thought you were a coward – I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

He turned and left; numb, Merlin returned to his cell and sprawled on the bench. Drained physically, emotionally and magically, he had only a moment to hate himself as much as Arthur did before he succumbed to an exhausted slumber, because Arthur was right – Merlin had as good as murdered all those people because he was too afraid to trust the man he should have trusted more than any other.

***

A somber shroud covered the council chamber, cast by their silent king, like the sunlight passing through a brooding thundercloud, dampening the zeal of the counsellors calling for Merlin’s head. The debate had not gone well so far – without the weight of Gaius, absent under a pall of suspicion, the balance of the council veered toward extreme sanction. Gwaine glanced at Arthur, silent and stony upon his throne – the decision was in the end the king’s, but ignoring the recommendation of the council would be difficult, if he were even so inclined; leniency would be seen as proof he’d fallen under the sway of the dread sorcerer, ample fodder for those who would plot to usurp his power.

“…it is not a question of the outcome of one’s actions, it is a question of the inviolability of the law, and the law is clear: those who practice magic, and all who consort with them, can receive only one penalty: death. You cannot exempt anyone from the law, or you render all law meaningless.” Lord Aron received a murmur of approval from the older councilors; against the tide of his formidable influence stood only poor Leon, whose weight came not from rank but rather his closeness to Arthur, and Gwaine himself, who Leon had managed to secure as representative of the Round Table.   

Leon responded, “But my lord, what of the spirit of the law? Merlin may have used magic, but he used it to protect the king – in fact he saved the whole kingdom. You saw what he did – surely that must count for something. And how can it be just that Sir Percival be executed? What purpose could that possibly serve?”

“I would be deeply saddened indeed by Percival’s execution, but again, it is the law, and sparing him will only encourage others who would harbour sorcerers. And yes, Sir Leon, I saw what Merlin did. And what I saw is that he is far too powerful to be allowed to live. Even if in this particular instance he appeared to use magic to defend the king, there are too many uncertainties: if not already, will he be corrupted by magic and power? Did he drive off Morgana only because her interests conflicted with his? She escaped justice; was this part of a larger plan? How can we know which of the kingdom’s misfortunes are the result of his machinations?”

Gwen’s hand strayed to her stomach and with a slow-dawning realisation, Gwaine understood her hostility – her mind had gone to _that_ place: Merlin was to blame for her barrenness; only through _sorcery_ had her husband come to love his manservant. Gwen’s voice shook with emotion. “I watched sorcery corrupt Morgana from the just and compassionate person I had known from childhood into the monster she has become. I cannot watch it again. I loved Merlin, but that Merlin is dead. We all saw him – he is not human anymore.”

Gwaine launched to his feet, furious and unable to listen to all this rubbish in silence any longer. “Not human anymore? Why, because he looked scary using his magic? Someday maybe you’ll see his majesty in battle – _then_ you can tell me what’s scary! And you’re welcome to try to execute Percival, but don’t come crying to me when the army mutinies!”

Aron reddened with a deep scowl amidst the muttering Gwaine had provoked. “Sit down, Sir Gwaine! Remember where you are!” Leon pulled at Gwaine’s sleeve and he relented and sat, stewing, resolving to break Merlin out of the dungeon and flee this wretched place once and for all. If even _Gwen_ was calling for Merlin’s head, this was hopeless.

Aron raised a hand for silence, and Leon waited until the tumult died down to speak. “My Lords are taking for granted that magic corrupts. Yet, Merlin has been here for _ten years._ Have any of you seen any sign of this corruption? Is magic truly evil in itself? Shouldn’t we view it as a tool, like a sword? A sword can kill or protect, depending on the will of the wielder—”

“That is a _terrible_ analogy.” All eyes turned to that pompous ass Lord Geoffrey, speaking for the first time, and whatever tiny hope Gwaine held died a bloody death. “You trivialize the unfathomable. A sword is as you say merely a tool, like a fork or a hoe. Magic is a force; it reaches everywhere and is in everything – it is the spirit of the earth itself. A man intending evil with a sword can be dangerous to other men, but a man intending evil with magic might tear the fabric of the world. Do you not remember the dorocha? If you must use an analogy, magic is like the sun; it brings life, but may also burn the incautious.

“My Lords, we have expended many words on the subject of the law and the ban on sorcery. Let us construct another analogy: imagine for a moment a complete ban on weapons, even for the army. Would this not leave the kingdom defenseless and all good people subject to those who would do ill? Is the ban on magic any different? I am an old man, and the world has changed much over my lifetime – and I remember a time when magic was freely used to heal, ward off ill fortune, bring health to crops and all manner of good works.”

 _Wait, what?_ Gwaine perked up – this is not where he’d expected Geoffrey to go.

Geoffrey continued, “Consider also this: is it not good people who respect laws, and the corrupt and evil who break them? So then, has not the ban itself caused magic to be used only for evil, and deny the kingdom the benefit and defense of those that would use it for constructive purposes?”

_Holy shit._

“What would have happened if Merlin were not here yesterday? We should all be dead, and we would be the lucky ones; our people would be enslaved and subjected to a dark and terrible tyranny. Further, do any of you honestly think he would be mouldering in his cell right now awaiting the king’s judgment if he didn’t choose to? Is this not proof enough of his loyalty? As for Sir Percival, I say simply this: a world in which a man of such perfect virtue must die for the sake of justice is a world in which I refuse to live.” He rose from his seat and drew himself tall. “Your majesty, I wish to confess: I have long known Merlin was a sorcerer and I’ve deliberately concealed this knowledge for many years.”

This shocked the chamber silent, and Arthur reacted for the first time, turning his head to face Geoffrey, face impassive but eyes attentive.

 _Oh my God._ Gwaine jumped up from his chair with glee. “Yup, I confess too!  I _totally_ knew Merlin was a sorcerer.”

Gwaine turned to Leon who winced, his anal-retentive devotion to rules and honesty warring briefly with his sense of right and wrong before the latter kicked the former unceremoniously off a cliff. He stood, slouched and fidgeting. “I too confess.” Gwaine smirked. Leon was a terrible liar, which in this case worked in Merlin’s favour, because it underscored his willingness to sacrifice himself for what was right. 

Lord Aron sat incredulous and gaping at Leon. “You would make a mockery of the king’s justice?”

Leon turned to face Arthur, now standing tall with his head held high. “No, Lord Aron, _I would die for it_.” The chamber fell utterly silent, and all faces turned to Arthur whose eyes filled with unshed tears before he closed them and bent his head.

***

“Merlin.”

Merlin opened his eyes, and stared for a moment at the red and gold torchlight dancing like fire sprites on the ceiling. Pushing away his sleepiness, he rose and stood at the entrance of his cell; he hadn’t bothered to close it after their last discussion and nobody else had either.

Arthur studied him with red and baggy eyes, perhaps less wary than last time. “I understand why you felt you needed to hide your true nature. And I believe you meant well, even that you regret some of your disastrous decisions. But they were not your decisions to make, and you bear the blame for the consequences. And this is the crux of the matter: what I cannot accept is that since the day you arrived in Camelot, you have lied to me. That despite all we’ve been to each other, you didn’t trust me.”

Merlin squeezed his temples between his thumb and fingers – his head ached with exhaustion. “If you’ll recall, I publicly confessed in front of the whole court my first month here.”

“That’s disingenuous. You knew I didn’t believe you.”

Merlin’s blood pressure spiked and he dragged his hand over his face. There was no winning; he was damned for lying and damned because Arthur dismissed the truth. “Yes, because you thought I was too much of an _idiot_ to be a sorcerer. Did you _really_ think Lancelot, all on his own, managed to defeat an immortal army and a powerful sorceress like Morgause? That you just miraculously recovered from the Questing Beast’s bite? That you even killed it, not to mention a dragon and dozens of other unstoppable monsters _while unconscious_? That swords just slip out of people’s hands whenever you’re in a tight spot? If you didn’t know I had magic it’s because you didn’t _want_ to know!”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips and nodded, his voice controlled. “So then it’s my fault is it? My fault because I trusted you and wanted to believe you were who you said you were?”

Merlin ground his teeth as he exhaled and fisted his hand in his hair. “Do you really not understand why I might have been afraid to tell you? How many times did you watch someone burn for sorcery without lifting a finger to stop it? How many times did you tell me that magic was ‘pure evil’? You want to talk about trust? You threatened to cast me out for defending Gaius against a baseless charge of treason. You threatened to exile me for trying to make you see that Agravaine was betraying you, and you threatened to exile me for simply _mentioning Gwen’s name_. How much worse would you have reacted to my magic?”

Arthur’s clenched fists and steely glare belied his carefully controlled tone. “People say rash things when they’re angry, especially me. You know that and you should have trusted me as a friend.”

Merlin huffed, throwing up his hands. “As a friend? And why should I do that? Over and over you’ve made it perfectly clear the gulf in status between us is unbridgeable, though that hasn’t stopped you promoting all my friends to the nobility. How many hundreds of times have you dismissed my word because I’m an idiot? That’s just it, isn’t it? Silly, lazy, clumsy Merlin is an amusing pet to have around but he’ll never amount to more than _just a servant_.”

“Stop!” Arthur whirled and punched the wall, bloodying his fist. “How can you… I never thought you could be so cruel Merlin, to say these things to me. It’s not true. You must know that’s not true, after everything that... You’ve never been that – you’ve never been just my servant, you’re _not_ , you’re my everyth—” He stopped as his voice broke and Merlin stood frozen, unable to breathe, as that one aborted word drained every last bit of anger out of him and demolished his understanding of Arthur, built on the faulty foundations of Merlin’s fear and resentment.

Arthur shut his eyes and sighed. “You don’t know what it is to grow up a prince. I was punished for showing my feelings and everything I was seen to care about was taken from me. I had no friends, they were the _prince’s_ friends, many of them _assigned_ to me. Can you imagine, Merlin, never knowing if people actually like you, or were just there for some advantage, or because they were forced to? I know you think I’ve had everything I could ever want. I had _nothing._ Even now, I have nothing.” He swept his arm across the chamber. “Everything, even this castle, is the _king’s_ , not mine. My counsellors, knights, clothes, lands, wealth, power, are all the _king’s_. What would I be left with if I abdicated?” He shrugged and shook his head. “Even Gwen – I know she loves me, but she grew up in Camelot and she’ll never completely be able to look past the crown to see _Arthur_.”  

He met Merlin’s gaze, his eyes glistening and flickering in the torchlight. “ _You_ , Merlin, _you_ were the only thing that was truly mine. Arthur’s. Do you want to know why I never promoted you? Because I couldn’t bear to be without you constantly at my side. I stopped trying to be what my father wanted a long time ago. It’s _your_ expectations that I try to live up to; _you_ that I dread disappointing; _your_ faith that makes me feel a king. Do ‘mere servants’ sit at the right hand of the king? Do kings lean so heavily on the counsel of ‘ _mere servants’_? And yet you stand there and tell me you don’t know you’re my friend? You aren’t just my friend, you’re my _only_ friend. The only friend I’ve ever had. Before you, I didn’t even know what a friend _was_. If I’ve sometimes lashed out at you, it’s because I’m terrified of how dependent I am on you. If I’ve kept you at arm’s length, it’s because I was afraid of what would happen to me if you left me.” He bowed his head. “That Arthur would be gone, and only the king would remain.”

Arthur paused at the door and faced Merlin with welling eyes. “I was only half-alive until I met you, Merlin. And now I wish I never had.” He turned and left.

***

Merlin sat slumped against the wall in his cell, arms locked around his knees, utterly shattered and numb, unable to sleep but equally unable to process Arthur’s last words, leaving him wallowing in a woeful puddle of bitter self-loathing. How could he have been so totally, miserably wrong about Arthur? Reflecting on his time in Camelot, he could identify so many times when he could have – should have – told Arthur the truth, all the little ways in which he overlooked or undervalued how Arthur showed his feelings. Merlin expected friends to behave in the easy manner he shared with Will, Lancelot, or Gwaine – he’d failed to adequately consider the crushing, suffocating pressure Arthur had to endure to be strong, to hide what he was thinking and feeling.

He had no idea how long he’d sat huddled there in the limbo between memory and dream, of what might have been and what would now be, too numb to care when the bailiff arrived to read him his inevitable sentence of exile.

Hours later, in his haze he registered approaching footsteps and then a hand softly stroking his head. “Merlin?” Merlin raised his head; even that small effort made him dizzy, and he must have looked terrible because Percival bit his lip and grimaced when their eyes met and he gathered Merlin in his arms. Percival’s warmth and love slowly seeped into him and ignited a frail spark of hope, a fragile lifeline to a bearable future, and with this shred of comfort, at last he fell asleep.

***

He blinked awake, disoriented but at least on a soft surface; the fading light of dusk felt like high noon to eyes that hadn’t seen sunlight in two days. How had he got to Percival’s chambers?

“Percival?” The mattress shifted with Percival’s heavy weight as he sat on the edge of the bed and Merlin scooted to lay his head in Percival’s lap. “Please tell me you didn’t carry me here from the dungeon through the whole castle.”

Percival ran his hand through Merlin’s hair. “No, I dragged you by the ankle. The hollow thud of your bouncing head going up the stairs was lovely. It drew lots of applause.”

Merlin gave a weak smile at the image. “How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours. You need to get up now to pack and say your goodbyes. You have to leave at first light. ”

Reality came crashing back and a gaping void opened inside his chest; his life in exile would be a bleak and lonely one. He met Percival’s soulful eyes. “I’m so… I can’t bear the thought of leaving you.”

Percival gave a solemn nod. “It's a good thing then that the King has remanded you into my custody – I'm to ‘keep you under guard until such time as your sentence is lifted or upon the decease of one or both of us’."

Merlin stared uncomprehending until Percival flashed him a brilliant smile; his spark of hope grew brighter and flitted around his chest, but he quashed it; hadn’t Percival already suffered enough at Merlin’s hands? “No – it’s too much. I can’t… you’d have to give up everything… it can’t be what you want.”

Percival pounced and pinned him to the bed and kissed him. “Of course it’s what I want, and even if I didn’t, I have no choice – it’s the king’s order.”

Merlin couldn’t begin to imagine what it meant that Arthur had done this, but the future looked another shade less bleak.

***

Merlin entered Gwaine’s chamber and gawked at its disastrous state, with clothing, arms, and various odds and ends strewn everywhere; Gwaine knelt in the middle of this chaos slamming choice belongings into a bag. He glanced up at Merlin, jaw set and eyes blazing. "Don't even bother arguing, I'm going with you."

Merlin sighed. "I’d very much like that, but you can’t."

Gwaine didn’t even pause in his packing. "I can, and I will. You know my loyalty has always been to you first."

"That means a lot to me Gwaine, but you swore an oath."

Gwaine raised his voice, jabbed a finger for emphasis. "He broke any obligation I had to him when he sentenced you for saving this miserable kingdom, and not for the first time either, I imagine."

Merlin smiled, moved by Gwaine’s true and unwavering friendship. "I don’t think that’s how oaths work."

Gwaine shrugged. "Well, I’ve never been one to follow the rules."

"Gwaine, I need you to stay. I need you to look after him – he’ll have nobody else to puncture his delusions of grandeur.” Gwaine snorted, and Merlin continued, his voice sobering, “I lied to him, Gwaine, and humiliated him. He has a right to be angry and hurt. But I’ll worry day and night unless I know you're here for him."

The fire faded to softness in Gwaine’s eyes. "The princess doesn't deserve you, Merlin."

Merlin shrugged, and Gwaine stood and grabbed him by the shoulders. "This place will be grim without you, you know."

Merlin stared at his feet, not wanting Gwaine to see the pain in his face, his voice a pained whisper. "I know."

Gwaine raised Merlin’s head with a finger under his chin, and Merlin was knocked breathless by the tears in his eyes. "I love you, Merlin."

Gwaine drew him in and they embraced long and hard. With his control slipping, needles in his eyes and daggers in his chest, Merlin could only choke out the words. "I love you too, Gwaine."

Pulling away, he left without looking back.

***

Merlin smiled to find Geoffrey at his usual station, scribbling away at some document or other on his cluttered desk. He cleared his throat. “Lord Geoffrey…”

Geoffrey raised his head, frowning with unfocused eyes, as if confused at the intrusion. “Yes?”

“My lord, I understand that I owe you―”

Geoffrey raised his hand to stop him in the familiar annoying gesture that now seemed like a gift, to be treated no differently than usual. “Think nothing of it. I merely expressed what I believe to be true.”

“I believe it’s more than that. You put your life on the line, and it made all the difference. I owe you my life, and I didn’t even think you liked me.”

Geoffrey frowned, staring off. “Well, to be honest, I have always found you rather irritating. But Gaius seems to think highly of you, as does Percival… such recommendations are hard to dismiss.” Without waiting for a response, he returned his attention to his papers, and Merlin rolled his eyes and shook his head, smiling as he left.

***

Merlin stood at the base of the grand staircase in front of the palace waiting for Percival to arrive with the horses. The empty pedestal where the poor iron knight had stood for generations served as a grim reminder of the fateful morning that had led to this moment. The castle had hardly begun to stir, and only the barest hint of the dawn’s emerging light reached the torch-lit courtyard and yet, still where Arthur had thrust it, Excalibur gleamed as if struck by the high-noon sun.

He glanced up at Arthur’s window – while his absence weighed heavy in Merlin’s chest, this way would be easier for them both.

Looking away from the window, he squeaked and nearly jumped out of his skin to find George standing directly in front of him. He sighed in relief and nodded a greeting. “George.”

George returned the nod. “Merlin.”

“George, the king—”

George interrupted with no edge to his voice. “We’ll look after him for you.”

“He—”

George laid a hand on his shoulder. “Merlin, we’ll look after him. You have my word.”

Merlin nodded, hesitant to trust Arthur’s care with anyone else – and although loath to admit it, nobody would fill his place better than George. “Thank you.”

George withdrew something from his pocket. He extended his hand and in his palm lay a ring made of brass. “The palace staff made this for you.”

Merlin took the ring and examined it, frowning. He couldn’t quite make out the engraving in the darkness. “What’s this writing?”

“Those are the dates of your service.”

Merlin squinted more closely at the ring. “But there’s no end date…”

George nodded. “That is because you will always be one of us. Safe journeys, Merlin – you will be missed." Merlin had assumed the servants would all despise him now, and deeply moved by this gesture of loyalty, his eyes stung as they shook hands in farewell.

Merlin glanced once more at Arthur’s empty window as the horses approached, the clop of each falling hoof a death knell of the life he had lost.

***

As they crossed the bridge into Ealdor, the mid-afternoon sun nudged its way between lazy clouds to illuminate long avenues of golden pastures divided by a cobbled road wending its way into town, all of which left Merlin rather confused. _  
_

First of all, where on earth had this bridge come from? He thought he’d made a wrong turn somewhere, but, no, he well recognised the stream marking the boundary of Ealdor. Yet in place of the old simple ford spanned a lovely stone bridge, a graceful arch leaping across the lazy stream in one bound, adorned with carvings of stylised knots forming geometric patterns and rosettes, and the road into town had been laid in wavy alternating rows of red and white stones, giving the straight path the illusion of movement. It all looked costly, like something you’d find in a castle, not a miserable little village. Speaking of which, where had the miserable village gone? In place of its thatched huts stood cozy stone cottages, some with more than one storey, and a few even larger structures poked over the rooftops.

Sounds of construction greeted them as they approached; the clink of chisels on stone, the hollow bang of hammers on timber, the rasping bark of saws. Everywhere around them bloomed signs of prosperity, from tended gardens of flowers to fat cows lounging in the shade of trees whisking at flies with their tails. Engrossed and bewildered, he missed his mother approaching until Percival waved to her.

Merlin leapt from the saddle and ran to her, and they kissed and embraced, grinning. “Merlin! I see you’ve been found, alive and well!” Merlin frowned at this strange greeting but had no time to ponder its meaning as Percival pushed him aside and threw his arms around Hunith and spun her around laughing; she stroked his face as they stared into each other’s glistening eyes.

Merlin gaped, aghast and bewildered. “What the…? Why are you… Gimmie my mother back! How… you…?” They ignored him; Hunith took Percival’s arm and they turned to head toward town. Merlin squeaked in utter confusion, “What on earth is going on here? This is…” The pair laughed and Percival grabbed Merlin and yanked him in to his other side.

***

_From the dream journal of Arthur Pendragon_

In my dream, I'm standing on a mountainside at night. It’s very windy. I see mountains around me and desert valleys below. I'm near the summit, and I climb.

I hear a voice coming from somewhere, in a language unknown to me, and it's everywhere, like it's the storm speaking.

I reach the top. Ahead of me I see a man. It's his voice I've been hearing. He stands in judgement, and he's terrifying and I know him. The ring on my hand burns and I fall when I try to take it off. I can never remember his face when I wake.

Now I know who it is, but I can't make myself write his name.

Mountain: Obstacles and challenges you must overcome.

Night: You are unsure of something. 

Wind: Unseen forces that help – or hinder.

Desert: Loneliness, feelings of isolation and hopelessness.

Unknown language: Not understanding something you need to know.

Judgement: Dreamer knows deep down that something he has thought morally sound is in reality wrong.

Ring: Represents a bond with destiny or another person – a bond that is unbreakable and infinite.


	25. Ealdor

Arthur lay in bed, his head turned away from the summer sun flooding through the window, letting his thoughts wander between bouts of dozing. If pressed, he wouldn’t be able to remember what he’d been thinking about, but he knew what he _wasn’t_ thinking about. He couldn’t; when his thoughts drifted there, a barrier inside him repelled them, like those lodestones Gaius had amazed him with as a boy, some force preventing him from touching them together, making them slide away from each other. Yes, that’s exactly what it’s like – a huge lodestone in his chest, a weight he was growing accustomed to carrying, becoming a part of him and, like his father’s death, the ache of carrying it would fade over time.

He hoped.

In the meantime, he’d stay right here. If only he weren’t so _bloody thirsty_... He’d just endure his suffering, but if he didn’t drink some water soon, he’d get another one of those terrible headaches. Despite the effort it cost him, he rolled over and raised his heavy eyelids and his body launched at least a foot into the air with a shriek. “Damn it, George!”

George extended a goblet. “Some water, sire?”

Arthur scowled, mouth agape. “How do you _do_ that?”

“Do what, sire?” George asked, his voice still deferential even in his confusion.

“Just give me the cup.” He snatched the goblet from George’s hand, drained its contents in a single gulp then thrust it in George’s general direction as he threw himself over again, away from the cruel light of the merciless sun.

“Would his majesty care to take a rest break? I imagine all that sleeping must be quite exhausting.”

“I’m very skilled, George. I could make it look like an accident.”

“Of course, sire. If you require anything, I have placed a bell on your nightstand – you need only ring it.”

As if Arthur would ever _ring a fucking bell_ like some bedridden matron with consumption.

***

Gentle fingers combing through his hair dragged Merlin in fitful steps from a deep sleep. His eyes flickered open to the sight of Percival leaning over him smiling. Merlin ran his hand up the arm Percival leant on as he sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying the massive power of Percival’s flexed muscles before he curled around him and threw an arm over his knees. “Come lie with me.”

Percival traced Merlin’s eyebrow with his finger. “Merlin, it’s nearly noon.”

With a sigh, Merlin used his most pathetic voice and best doe eyes. “Please?”

Percival moaned, but with a rustle of fabric as he pulled off his tunic, he climbed into bed with him and Merlin buried his head in Percival’s neck, intertwined their legs, and hummed at the soothing pleasure of hot skin against his chest.

He woke again when Percival jostled him as he shifted his weight. “Sorry, getting a cramp.”

Merlin rotated his body to be spooned against Percival. Merlin couldn’t fall asleep again, though, not with Percival twitching with too much nervous energy from being forced to lie still for so long in the middle of the day.

Merlin took a deep pained breath and turned. “I’m sorry. This can’t be what you want.”

Percival kissed his forehead. “You’re mourning, Merlin. I understand that.”

A lump lodged in Merlin's throat, being only able to repay this selfless compassion with his pathetic, morose lethargy – as usual. “You can’t feel good knowing why.”

Percival drew back to meet Merlin’s eyes and gave him a sad smile. “I’ve always accepted that you love him. It’s a price I’m willing to pay to be with you.”

Percival’s words both weighted his stomach with guilt, but a wave of warmth flowed through him as he was reminded again of how lucky he was to have the love of this man. “I _do_ feel the same way about you as you said to me that one day, too…”

Percival raised his eyebrows, teasing amusement tingeing his voice. “That was the most pathetic ‘I love you’ in all of history.”

Merlin reddened; his words hadn’t come out like he’d intended at all. “I’ll make it up to you. I just needed to say that I do.”

“Only for my body.”

Merlin snorted. “Which hasn’t gotten any attention lately, either _._ You must be feeling frustrated.”

Percival shrugged and smirked. “Nah, village girls are easy.”

Laughing, Merlin pushed at Percival’s chest without budging him an inch. “Don’t you dare! I’m selfish and I don’t share!”

Percival wrapped him up in his arms, grinning. “It’s all right. I can wait.

***

George scurried into the chamber, out of breath and carrying a silver tray. And a good thing, too - if Arthur had to ring the bell much longer he’d get a cramp. He scowled. “Where on earth have you been? I’ve been ringing for ages!”

George pulled a lap table from under the bed to position over Arthur’s legs; he set the tray down and removed the cover. “Your majesty will understand it was necessary to wake the not altogether pleased cook to prepare your pudding. I shall look into relocating the kitchens closer to your majesty’s chambers to improve my transit time. Will that be all, sire?”

Arthur took in the handprint across George’s face, the black bags under his eyes, the odd ensemble of his jacket over his nightshirt. _Odd._ “That will be all, George, thank you.” George gave a curt nod and retreated to the anteroom.

Arthur tucked in, but frowned after the first few bites. _This cake is too dry._ He shrugged and forked another bite into his mouth… his eye strayed to the bell. No, he wasn’t a spoiled little girl to complain about slightly dry cake. He lunged for the bell.

George emerged from his anteroom with glazed eyes. “His majesty rang?”

“I need hot spiced cider with this.”

When George returned, he set the flagon down on Arthur’s lap table with unnecessary force in Arthur’s opinion, even if he was impressed that while the cider sploshed, not a drop escaped the mug _. I wonder what’s got into_ him _?_ “Thank you George.”

“Good _night_ , sire.”

Arthur sipped his cider and hummed and nodded. That hit the spot nicely. He rang the bell.

George, who had not yet made it to the anteroom, pivoted and plodded back to the bedside. “ _Yes_ , sire?

“Do you play chess, George?”

***

Merlin stood ankle-deep in a stream, running warm in the summer sun. The water rose to his knees, thighs, engulfing his entire lower body and sending waves of pleasure through him. He moved through stages of awareness, from unthinking acceptance, to knowing he was dreaming, to being half-awake as his palms grazed over the stiff but soft brush of Percival’s close-cropped hair, to fully awake as a wet warmth engulfed him. He arched his back in a huge full-body yawn as Percival slid his hand up Merlin’s chest, his touch sending a tingling heat through his body. His hand continued up Merlin’s throat to his face, and his index finger traced Merlin’s lips before pushing into his mouth. It had been a long time, and Merlin’s muscles tensed all too soon in climax as Percival hummed and swallowed him down.

Merlin panted, boneless and sated. “Would it be romantic if I said it now?”

Percival rolled his eyes. “No, Merlin.” Percival drew himself up Merlin’s body, and his hungry eyes, hard length against Merlin’s stomach and strong hands pinning Merlin’s wrists to the bed meant Percival would take his turn whether Merlin liked it or not, ensuring he would like it indeed.

***

Arthur hesitated before taking another bite of his roast pork. A tad overcooked and not the best cut. A bit under-salted, too. Bland. But not quite enough to complain about; subtle passive-aggressive retaliation from the kitchen. Much like the way his laundry, though still always spotless, wasn’t quite as fresh-smelling, his wine a slightly substandard vintage, his baths every-so-slightly tepid, and things in his chambers subtly rearranged to confuse him. Of course, he could also be imagining all of this – the staff couldn’t be bleaching the colour out of the world and making the birds chirp haunting dirges…

“How was practice today?”

“Hmm?” He paused while Gwen’s words wended their way into his distracted and sluggish brain. “Oh, fine, darling. The new recruits are making good progress. How was the luncheon?”

“It was quite successful, actually. Lady Edith was kind enough to volunteer her services to manage the preparations for the festival of blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah…”

What happened to the goofy and awkward but plucky girl who wasn’t afraid to call him on his bullshit? When had they become so formal with each other even in private? And had she taken a vow to never use contractions again or something? Maybe he should get Elena and Mithian to visit more often to show Gwen that a queen can act like a normal person once in a while. He sighed. No, too harsh, unworthy of him – he couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful, dutiful, honorable, and able queen…

“Arthur? Are you listening to me?”

 _Oops._ “Of course, darling. I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted with a…” _think of something she won’t ask a follow-up question about_ … “drainage issue. Please do go on.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose. “I was saying that we need to make an example of the Guild of Mercers for using non-standard weights and measures or we risk undermining the entire basis of our fiscal blah blah blah blah…”

 _Oh, God, not this again._ “Darling, I give you carte blanche to take whatever action you see fit in this matter.”

Gwen gave him a sweet smile for his confidence in her, to do… whatever. “Thank you, Arthur.” _She should smile more – but that one, the_ real _one, not her weird stiff ‘queen’ smile. And that dress – yes, you have great tits, we get it. Now, how about we put them away and leave a little to the imagination of every man in the kingdom to the lowliest stable boy? Argh, what’s wrong with me? Where is this resentment coming from?_

Gwen frowned, staring at her plate, poked at her food. “Does this meat seem a bit stringy to you? The cook has not been at her best lately.”

“Would you like me to have her executed?" _Ah. So_ that’s _where._

Gwen slammed down her knife, trembling and eyes welling. “Don’t you think I feel bad enough for even _thinking_ such things about him? I was shocked and hurt, Arthur, surely you can understand that. He and I were so close – I thought we told each other everything – but to keep such a secret... It was Morgana all over again. Are you going to punish me forever for saying what you yourself were thinking?” She dabbed at her eyes as she rose from the table.

Arthur leapt from his seat. “Gwen, I’m sorry, truly. Please don’t be upset…

Gwen waved him off and swept away with a rustle of her train and her maid in tow, and Arthur fell back into his chair and buried his head in his hands. Why couldn’t he learn to filter before speaking?

“I believe something more substantial than flowers will be required in this case, sire.”

Arthur jumped and banged both knees on the table. Flopping his head against the seatback, he sighed. “I leave it in your able hands, George.”

***

Merlin’s eyes traced the intricate detailing of the stonework in his mother’s dining room; the style matched the bridge over the ford and must be well beyond Hunith’s means. She followed his eyes to the object of his scrutiny. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Percival frowned at him. “Are you just noticing this now? We’ve been here months!"

Merlin shrugged. “Sorry. Preoccupied, I guess. Mum, how can you afford all this?”

Hunith smiled, reached over the table to squeeze Sir Accolon’s hand; something else Merlin hadn’t picked up on before and now, as recognition dawned, he wondered exactly what this retired knight was still doing in Ealdor so long after Arthur sent him to survey the village. Hunith must have read the confusion on his face and, beaming with a gleam in her eye, turned to Accolon. “Show him.”

“One minute.” With a mischievous smile, Accolon jumped up from the table, spritely beyond his years, and in a moment returned and set a small block of stone on the table. He glanced at Hunith, who smiled and nodded her head before he extended his hand over the block. _“Ic stán gehíwlæce!”  
_

Merlin jerked his head back and shielded his face from the shower of sparks as the familiar patterns etched into the stone, leaving him agape. “But you’re Arthur’s chief surveyor! You… you served Uther!”

Accolon gave him a wry grin. “Ah, but I’m retired and live here now.”

“But…”

Hunith grabbed his hand. “Merlin, the charter Arthur granted means we make our own laws. The prosperity we’ve gained from security and no taxes has overcome everyone’s scruples about magic, and those who can’t abide the new way of things have left.”

Accolon bent and kissed her hand. “Besides, nobody dares argue with the mayor.”

Merlin blinked in surprise, and turning to Accolon he gestured around the room. “You did _all_ this? The bridge, everything?”

The old knight nodded and gave him a sober smile. “It’s a bit of a curse, really – I have big ideas and but little magic.”

Merlin stroked his chin. “I think I may have a solution for… Wait, the _mayor_?”

Later the same afternoon as Merlin and Percival took a walk through the woods, Merlin frowned. “I think something’s going on between mum and Sir Accolon.” He jumped at Percival’s loud laugh.

“You really are preoccupied if you hadn’t noticed! I figured that out our first day here.”

Merlin blushed and scowled. “Mrmmm. He’s a bit old for her, isn’t he?”

“And I’m a bit thick for _you_.”

Merlin shook his head. “You know, I think you’re much smarter than you believe yourself to be.”

Percival raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I meant. Let me remind you.”

Faster than his size would suggest, Percival had Merlin pinned to the ground and divested of his trousers in seconds. Merlin laughed and wrapped his legs around Percival’s waist. “I guess I fell right into that one.”

***

Arthur sat ramrod straight in the saddle, though he slumped inside, his eyes losing focus as they passed row after row of identical grey structures on their way to open a grey new grain silo on this grey day. Another pointless duty in his long list of pointless duties. With listless resignation he let George lead his horse down dismal streets still glimmering with moisture from the morning’s rain, which had done nothing for the stink of the lower town, and anything that stank dry stank even more when wet.

Some sort of hubbub invaded his gloom and he snapped alert to a strange scene. One of his guards appeared to be pushing off a townsman who was attempting to approach Arthur whilst leading a cow. “Back you go, make way…”

“Please, only a moment of his majesty’s time…” Arthur frowned and dismounted, the slightest bit curious. “It’s all right Tom, let him speak.”

A dirty little man with a pleasant and guileless smile removed his hat and bowed.

Charmed by the man’s infectious grin and intrigued by this lone spark of cheer poking through the anaemic haze smothering the world, Arthur decided to spare a moment for this jolly loyal subject and dismounted. “What’s your name, good man?”

“It’s Alred, sire.”

“Well, Alred, what did you wish to tell me?”

“I wanted to show ye the cow, sire.”

Arthur groaned internally; he had only himself to blame for this. “The cow. Is there something that distinguishes this particular cow from the rest of… cowdom?”

“Why yes, sire.” The man stood smiling and nodding, displaying no sign he planned to elaborate.

Knowing that nothing good could come of asking, he forged ahead anyway. “What, pray tell, is that distinguishing feature?”

The man frowned as he struggled to parse Arthur’s fancy talk, but his smile stretched even brighter when he puzzled it out. “This is the cow yer majesty bought me!”

Arthur blinked at this bizarre statement. “The cow I bought you.”

“Yes, sire!”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s back up for a minute - help me remember. I bought you a cow, because…”

“My old one died, sire. She was all I had, and with no means to feed m’self, I should’ve starved, sire.”

“Indeed, nothing is more tragic than a deceased cow. And so you… came to see me?”

“No sire. I wouldn’t think of disturbin’ yer majesty for my lowly troubles.”

Arthur glanced at George, who shrugged. “And yet I bought you this cow.”

“Yes sire. Rather yer majesty’s coin did. I was surprised yer majesty would have heard of my sad state, but yer man came and brought me enough to buy my beautiful new cow.”

“My man. Which man?”

“Why, your manservant, sire – Merlin.”

Sometimes in a fight, if someone hit him hard on the head, for a moment there would be a ringing in his ear, the world would go as white as when he first opened his eyes on a bright morning, and everything appeared to move in slow motion; if he got punched in the stomach, his breath would be forced from him and he couldn’t get it back. The pain shooting through him now was both of those combined.

“Oh, dear.” George sent the man off with the king’s blessings.

Just hearing the banished name he hadn’t heard, spoken, even thought, since… Someone pounded on a door. “Surprise royal inspection. Everyone out. Out out out.” A clink of coins. “For time lost. Thank you, out out.”

Hands gripped his shoulders. “Right this way, sire. Here we are, sire.” George pushed him into the vacated shop and slammed the door behind him, muffling the sounds and smells of the bustling city and leaving him alone to recover his composure.

Arthur had always taken for granted that Merlin frittered away all his money at the tavern. As it turns out, he gave it away to people in need. And he did this in Arthur’s name – with no thought of recognition, as usual.

“How about a song, everyone? _There once was a right lovely lass…”_

He glanced around himself – a tannery. Stuffed dead animals adorned the walls and corners, their faces frozen, stuck forever with one flat expression, existing only for display to the public.

_“A girl of unusual class…”  
_

He fell upon a bench, buried his head in his hands. He wasn’t his father – Uther’s heartbreak had given him purpose and direction, cruel and cold as it was; Arthur’s purpose and direction had been given to him by the person who gave his meager earnings to an old man weeping over his dead cow. By the man who he’d convicted of treason, banished from his kingdom. Tried to banish from his heart.

_“She never complained…”_

He struggled for breath, choking on the image that wouldn’t be banished, of gentle Merlin cowering in fear from him in the dungeon, shaking in terror, eyes squeezed shut against the death he expected at Arthur’s hands. _  
_

_“And her looks never waned…”_

He’d buried his grief for months now, to burn deep inside and use him up, and taking advantage of the opportunity George had given him, he indulged in one of the luxuries denied to kings and mourned, long and hard. _  
_

_“For you see she was made all of brass!”_ New verse, everyone! _I once knew a wee lad most proper…”_

***

Merlin glanced behind him; Percival stood with his arms wrapped around Hunith to keep the autumn cold at bay as the sun approached the horizon, accompanied by a handful of the bolder townsmen who had come out for the show.

Merlin took his place behind Sir Accolon, and placed his hands on either side of his head. _“Mín cáfnesse ic álæne!”_

Accolon jerked and shut his eyes, and drawing himself to his full height, he opened them, now bright gold, and raised his hand. The resonance of his voice made the Ealdoreans gasp and step back. _“Ic stán ond eorðan átíe ond gehíwlæce!”  
_

With a low, thundering rumble, the earth before them streamed up into the air, creating an ever-expanding hole in the ground; brick and stone rose from stacked piles and arranged themselves at Accolon’s command as sparks and flashes brushed engravings onto them like an invisible pen with flaming ink.

As Accolon drew power from Merlin, the engineer’s grand design lay revealed in Merlin’s mind, and his mouth dropped open as a chill ran through him.

***

Arthur’s heart raced and a weight lodged in his stomach, and although the incident in the market had underscored that he couldn’t avoid this forever, still he wondered if there were truths he wasn’t ready for. Yet his grief, which he had buried so far out of reach, refused to stay dead and had been chipping away at its coffin, and had now broken free, released by the innocent mention of Merlin’s name by a man and his cow. The time had come to seek answers; screwing up his courage and taking a deep breath, he stepped into the infirmary.

Gaius stood at his workbench watching something undoubtedly foul bubbling over his burner, a picture almost unchanged since early boyhood when Arthur would flee here for sanctuary, to the one person who didn’t scold (unless he deserved it), teach him tough lessons, or express constant disappointment in him, and just let him be himself – a child desperate and starving for loving adult attention. He’d never told Merlin, but all those years ago in Ealdor, the embrace Hunith gave him was the closest he’d ever come to maternal love, and because of that one meagre dollop of affection, sometimes when he thought of his own mother he’d picture only Hunith’s face.

Gaius straightened as Arthur entered, his face the careful blank perfected by years of service to his temperamental and unforgiving father. The old man pursed his lips and raised the inevitable eyebrow. “I wasn’t sure you ever planned to speak to me again.”

Arthur bowed his head and studied his feet. “Neither was I. Or that you’d want to if I did.”

Gaius gave Arthur a sad smile. “I would never turn away my golden king, or anyone I love so dearly.”

The worst of Arthur’s tension melted away and he shut his eyes. The words sent a wave of relief washing over him and he realised how desperate he had been to hear them; he’d come here fearing rejection by the man who was for all practical purposes his grandfather – the only steadfast presence throughout his entire life, the only person who’d been able to shield him from his father’s wrath. Yet his words hurt as well as soothed, because the love he professed hadn’t been strong enough to support Gaius’ faith in Arthur. When he raised his eyes, he didn’t care that they were welling. “I trusted you.”

“Did you? Not long ago you condemned me as a traitor and abandoned me to be tortured by Morgana.”

Arthur jerked and went cold to the core. “That’s unfair! The evidence—“

“The evidence! You had two possible traitors and you set one to investigate the other. What did you _think_ would happen? Let’s be honest with ourselves, Arthur – you sacrificed me to your desperate need for family and blinded yourself to the reality that you already have one. If you would condemn me for doing nothing but serve the Pendragons with unwavering loyalty for _sixty years,_ why would I ever trust you with Merlin’s fate?”

Arthur bent under the weight of Gaius’ reproach, wiped his eyes with a shaking hand. “Gaius, please… you know better than anyone how my father… what I had to…” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I made many mistakes in my first months as king. Terrible mistakes. Agravaine was my only tie to my mother, and his counsel in most things was measured and wise. But that was four years ago, and that insecure boy is long gone. If you love me, if you believe in me, you should have told me the truth. You should have trusted me to do the right thing. Both of you.”

Gaius hung his head, sighed and nodded. “You’re right, I should have done. I allowed myself to be controlled by fear.” He shut his eyes, as if to avoid a terrible image. “But it’s difficult for you to understand the fear ingrained in people who lived through the Great Purge, Arthur. I watched most of my friends, people I loved and cared about, burn – for the sole crime that they had magic, even if they’d done nothing but use it for petty charms or to heal. I myself was spared only because I threw myself at Uther’s feet and vowed never to use magic again. I could not have survived watching Merlin burn, and perhaps I encouraged him to keep his secret longer than he should have.”

“You sound like you think the ban on magic was wrong – but I’ve heard you speak in support of it many times.”

“Once your father declared war on magic, the die was cast; having made magic his enemy, it was inevitable that many with magic would seek to destroy him, and the kingdom with it. Because I believed in your father, and didn’t wish to see the return of the chaos and bloodshed he ended, I supported him.”

“The chaos and bloodshed caused by magic.”

Gaius shook his head. “No, Arthur. Magic was your father’s _ally_ in his struggle to rebuild this kingdom. Without magic he could not have succeeded.”

Arthur shook his head, his thoughts spinning. “No. No, that’s a lie. It was the corruption of magic that threatened to destroy Camelot.”

“Arthur, you know better than anyone that it is _power_ that corrupts – or perhaps more aptly, the corrupt seek power. How many of your courtiers really care about the wellbeing of the kingdom? How many are there for their own benefit, to increase their own power? It was not the corruption of magic that led to the Great Purge, it was your father’s rage and grief over your mother’s death.”

Arthur’s chest constricted as the realisation hit him. “No. Merlin said that what Morgause showed me was a trick – was this just another of his lies? So it’s true? My father sacrificed her for an heir?”

“No!” Arthur jumped at Gaius’ angry tone. “Arthur, listen to me. He did not. What Morgause showed you was a corruption of the truth. Uther was indeed desperate for an heir, and in his desperation he turned to magic – I warned him the price would be too high, but his mind was set. To create a life, a life must be taken - this is the balance of the world. But Uther had no idea the life taken would be Ygraine’s. He would never have made such a decision – he loved your mother more than anything else in this world.”

“She seemed so real. I—”

“Arthur, I was with your mother when she died, as were you, in her arms. She made me swear to take care of both you and your father. She loved him to her last breath just as much as he loved her. Never doubt that for an instant.”

“So he made a terrible mistake and atoned for it with the Purge – to make sure nobody else would ever use such dark power.”

Gaius sighed. “And yet that ‘dark power’ has been used to save your life.”

“No…” How could Arthur have been so oblivious to all this? Was Merlin right? Had he willfully turned a blind eye? “When…?”

“When you were bitten by the Questing Beast. Merlin went to Nimueh – the very sorceress who bought about your conception – to trade his life for yours, but Nimueh deceived Merlin and tried to take Hunith’s life instead. He destroyed her and it was _her_ life that paid for yours – the very definition of poetic justice.”

Arthur stroked his chin. Even though he’d seen Merlin’s power with his own eyes, Arthur still found it difficult to reconcile his goofy manservant with this potent sorcerer, operating behind the scenes on his behalf for all these years – even controlling life and death. Arthur hugged himself and shivered at the image of Merlin taking Percival’s wounds, the terrifying screams of the sorcerers as they burned. “He did the same with Percival.”

Gaius nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“Is he really so powerful? Is he even human?”

Gaius smiled, ancient sadness in his milky eyes and his voice brimming with pride. “He’s merely the Merlin you know – that sweet, clumsy, generous, devoted boy. But he’s also so much more. For the most powerful of sorcerers, magic comes naturally; it’s a gift they are born with although it may not develop for many years; Morgana is one of these. Merlin, however, is greater still; the greatest sorcerer of our time – he is magic itself. And his purpose – the very reason he was born – is to serve you and help you become the great king that you are destined to be.”

Arthur dropped his head in thought. Merlin had always insisted Arthur was destined to be the ‘greatest king Albion has ever known’. Arthur had almost resented the burden of such high expectation, but hadn’t Merlin typically added, “And I’ll be right here, at your side, protecting you”? Was that Merlin’s way of edging toward his secret?

And Gaius was right, it _is_ power that corrupts. But isn’t magic the ultimate temptation of power? Yet if it’s true that people are born with magic, can anyone be innately evil? For that matter, does it even matter if sorcery is learned later? If someone reads in a book how to make poison, does that make him a murderer? Arthur well understood the temptation of power – every day he struggled against it. But he had never wanted nor sought power, he was born into it. Like Merlin.

Arthur sighed and leant on his elbows, fisting his hand in his hair. Before, when he thought of Merlin, he pictured him with his goofy grin, or his lips pressed together in irritation; but now he found it hard to stop his mind from drawing him tall, with golden eyes and wielding lightning as a weapon…

“Arthur, everything he has done he has done for you. You cannot begin to imagine the lengths to which he’s gone to protect you, how the terrible decisions he’s had to make have weighed on him.”

“Like releasing the dragon? I’m a fraud. I’ve accomplished nothing. It was Merlin who killed the dragon, not I…” Gaius bowed his head, and Arthur frowned. “What happened to the dragon, Gaius?”

The old man squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don’t, Arthur. Just trust that the dragon will never again harm Cam—“

Arthur put steel into his voice. “Gaius, I will have no more lies, no more deception. What happened to the dragon?”

“Arthur, this is Merlin’s story to—“

“Gaius!”

Gaius sighed, and his hands fell to his sides. “Merlin sent the dragon away and commanded it to never return.”

“Merlin sent the dragon away. After it had destroyed half Camelot and killed hundreds of people.”

Gaius would not make eye contact, a pained expression on his face. “There is a reason, but it will be terrible to hear.”

More terrible to hear than all the rest of this? His chest hurt and his heart raced, but he would hear the truth, no matter how terrible. “Tell me.”

Gaius met his gaze with sorrowful eyes. “Merlin drove away the dragon the moment he was able to. He is the last dragonlord.”

Arthur frowned in confusion. “You said Balinor was the last dragonlord.”

Gaius nodded. “As indeed he was at the time I said it.”

Arthur shook his head to clear it, “Gaius, I’m in no mood for puzzles.”

Gaius’ eyes bored into him with an intensity that made Arthur brace for impact. “The power of the dragonlords is passed from father to son. Merlin did not become a dragonlord until the death of his father.”

Several moments passed before the words sank in, but ice filled Arthur’s veins when the realisation dawned; he could hear only his heartbeat as his world went white, struggling for breath as guilt and horror choked him. _No man is worth your tears. How many people have died because of your cowardice? How many could you have saved?_ Arthur gripped the edge of the workbench to steady himself. _Oh, Merlin.  
_

“During the Great Purge, after tricking Balinor into delivering the dragon to him, your father tried to kill him. I saved him, and sent him to Hunith; they fell in love and Merlin was conceived. Your father learned of Balinor’s presence in Ealdor and sent knights over the border to kill him. The cave you found him in was his refuge from your father’s persecution, where he was forced to hide for twenty years. Despite this, Balinor healed you with magic and agreed to help you. Merlin knew all this too, yet despite the pain Uther had caused his family, he protected your father from certain death time and again for your sake. When you question his faith in you, his devotion and loyalty, think about _that._ Merlin has sacrificed _everything_ for you – his own happiness, his friends, his father, until nothing remained but you.”

Arthur squeezed a hand over his eyes, drained and numb from too many painful revelations and the puncturing of his beliefs, and above all, the echoes of his hurtful barbs and of Merlin’s encouraging words warred in his head and became a twisted jumble.

Gaius rested his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur raised his head to meet his gaze with blurring eyes. “There is one more thing, Arthur. I’m old and tired, and the time is long past for me to retire. I wish to resign and spend my last days in peace in Ealdor.”

So he had one more cruel blow to endure. His couldn’t stop his voice breaking. “You’re leaving me?”

Gaius smiled, sad and kind. “Arthur, I was ready to retire when Merlin first came here. He made me young again, and guiding him gave me purpose. But without him, my life has become empty and I haven’t the spirit to carry out my duties anymore. Of course I’ll be happy to stay to help find my replacement.”

“But I need you – your counsel…”

“I’m a creature of a bygone era, Arthur. You’re long past the need for relics like me – you need younger advisors with a vision for the future.”

His heart breaking, Arthur could no longer blink back his tears, and he became a small boy again. “Gaius, please…”

Gaius too was now crying; he embraced Arthur, who rested his head on the old man’s shoulder. “We may meet again before my time is through – maybe even sooner than you think, but regardless of what the future holds, remember that I will always love you.”

When he returned to his chambers, George took one look at him and, with gentle and silent efficiency, prepared him for bed and tucked him in, and Arthur drifted off to the sound of George’s scribbling quill as he sat up doing paperwork to save Arthur from having to fall sleep alone.

***

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Gwaine laid his head back on the edge of the pool and sighed. “We could use one of these in Camelot.”

Merlin smiled and laid back next to him, studying the ceiling of the cavernous chamber while Percival waded toward the middle of the heated pool.

“So what made you decide to put all this here?” Gwaine brushed sweat off his forehead.

Merlin shrugged. “Sir Accolon’s idea. The ancients had these – he’s studied their ruins.”

“Hmm. What I don’t get is how you keep the water so hot. Must take a lot of manpower.”

Merlin shrugged again, smiling inside. “Not really.”

“Come on now. You’d need a crew stacking fuel, shovelling it into furnaces, keeping everything maintained…”

“Nope. If you don’t believe me, you can check for yourself – everything’s down those stairs.” He gestured with his head.

“I’ll take you up on that.” He jumped from the pool, wrapped a cloth around his waist, and descended. A moment later he came back up pale from head to toe. “Merlin, there’s a monster in your basement.”

Percival laughed and Merlin smiled. “It’s a golem.”

“A whatsit?”

“A golem. A big iron man animated by magic. It doesn’t tire or sleep, so it’s enough to run the whole place.”

“Handy, that.” He sat at the edge of the pool, dangled his legs in the water. “I’m going to be sorry to end my visit – there’s no escaping the cold in that drafty castle.”

Merlin’s chest tightened, remembering sitting huddled at Arthur’s feet as the king lounged in his favourite chair in front of the fireplace, his hand mussing Merlin’s hair for no particular reason.

***

Merlin brushed the perspiration from his brow. The intense heat of the magical fire in Accolon’s forge kept the cold night at bay, despite the chill wind whistling around them. Alice helped him finish the preparations for the ritual while Gaius and his mother looked on. He uncovered the shards and handed them to the Accolon to arrange in the forge.

One he had done so, he took up the hammer as Merlin outstretched his hands and recited the words of power. “ _Geseah ða on searwum sigeeadig bil…”_ The ring of the hammer on the blade was deafening. “… _eald sweord eotenisc, ecgum þyhtig, wigena weorðmynd…”_ The seam between the halves of the blade blazed white. _“…þæt wæs wæpna cyst, buton hit wæs mare ðonne…”_ With each stroke the seam faded, and soon disappeared. _“…ænig mon oðer to beadulace ætberan meahte!”  
_

Accolon took the sword by the hilt, laid the blade over his hands for Merlin, who was surprised the metal retained no heat from the forge, and there was no sign the blade had ever been broken. He beamed and embraced Accolon, and everyone gathered around to examine the gleaming weapon.

Merlin turned back to the forge. “I need your help with one more thing.” He withdrew a letter from his pocket.

Inside was a tuft of blond hair and George’s irritatingly perfect handwriting:

_I hope this will suffice. G._

***

Merlin surveyed his work: _Warm fire in the hearth, check. Artfully arranged candles, check. Nice-smelling flowers, check. Magic sword, check. Plenty of lubricant for fucking all night, check._ He smiled in glee, now grateful for the experience he’d amassed having to do all Arthur’s wooing (and apologising) for him for the last ten years.

Merlin’s butterflies fluttered as Percival’s heavy tread approached. The door opened and Percival froze, blank faced, probably wondering if he had the wrong house. He frowned at Merlin. “What’s all this, then?” He entered, removed his boots.

Merlin approached, leaned up to kiss him. “I wanted to do this right.”

Percival raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Merlin grabbed his hand and dragged him to the fire. “Come on.” He sat on the floor before the hearth and Percival joined him. “I have a story to tell you.”

Percival, eyebrow still straining, hummed his doubt. “Tell away.”

Merlin rubbed his hands together, cleared his throat.

_“There was once a mighty warrior named Balyn, the first knight and champion of the Fisher King. To reward Sir Balyn for his bravery and loyalty, the Fisher King created for him a magical sword fit for a noble hero. The blade would never tarnish, never lose its edge; those who meant ill would shrink from its gleam, and those of good will would take heart in its presence.  
_

_“But Balyn suffered from the sin of pride, and one day, bitter at the success of a rival, Balyn provoked an argument and drew his sword against his fellow. When their blades clashed, the sword broke under his opponent’s blow and he was killed, for the sword would not have its power misused.”_

Merlin grinned when he finished and Percival stared, frowning. “All right, so why are you telling me this?”

Merlin rose and pulled Percival up with him. “Come over here.”

He bounded over to a cabinet, withdrew a sheathed sword and handed it to Percival, who stared at it, even more confused. “What is this?”

“That’s the sword – the sword in the story. Draw it.”

Percival hesitated before pulling the sword from its sheath; the blade captured the firelight and shone brighter than should be possible. Percival eyed the magnificent weapon in awe for a moment, the intricate detailing on the hilt, the glint of the razor sharp blade, and when he swung, the sword sang as it cut through the air with impeccable balance. “This is beautiful – perfect.”

Merlin grinned wide, delighted at Percival’s awed reaction. “It’s not Excalibur, but it should serve you well.”

This struck Percival breathless. “Merlin! What…?”

“The sword lay broken for centuries, but powerful weapons such as this need great and noble warriors to bear them, and I believe this one has been waiting for you. I’ve repaired it for you as a token of my love.”

Percival ran a reverent and trembling hand over the blade with watering eyes. “I will do my best to be worthy of this sword, and will never wield it for selfish or evil purpose.” He sheathed the blade and set it atop the cabinet. “Merlin…I…” Merlin embraced him and they stood entwined for a long while, until Merlin pulled back to ask, “Did I say it right this time?”

Percival nodded. “That was much better than your last try.”

Merlin mouthed “yes” and fist-pumped.

Percival rolled his eyes, shaking his head in resignation. “You’re really horrible at this.”

***

Merlin sat on the grass by their cottage reading, a little chilled but enjoying the afternoon sun of the dawning spring, distracted by Percival playing with the town children, rolling around on the ground as they climbed all over him, throwing them screeching and laughing up in the air and catching them, while being shot at by toy arrows. After a while, he sent them away, telling them their mothers would be looking for them, and he collapsed beside Merlin, his smile broad and body relaxed.

Merlin grinned at the stains and dirt on Percival’s clothing, and plucked a leaf from his hair. “You’re happy here.”

“I do like this place. I like the people, I love your mother, I enjoy training the militia… I won’t lie, part of me misses Camelot, life with my brother knights—”

A thump against the window snatched their attention. Percival rose to investigate. “Oh… poor thing.” He returned with a robin writhing in his hand.

“Maybe it’s just stunned…”

Percival shook his head. “They never survive – they’re so fragile.” He glanced up at Merlin with hopeful eyes. “Can you…?”

Merlin touched the bird, could sense its life fading. He shook his head. “Too late. But maybe you can help it.” Percival frowned, confused. Merlin took his free hand. “Remember what you did with me in the tower? Try to do that now to ease its passing.”

Percival shut his eyes, forehead pinched in concentration, but with no effect – at first. Merlin gasped – a normal eye might have seen nothing, or perhaps a faint brightness, but to Merlin’s sight, Percival radiated a blinding light and the world faded to white. When it passed, Merlin ducked as the bird shot out of Percival’s hand and flew away.

Their eyes locked, Percival’s blank, Merlin too stunned to move. The door to his mother’s house burst open and she came running. “What was that? What happened?” When she reached them, Percival met her gaze, unshed tears in his eyes, and whatever she found there put an enigmatic smile on her face and she stroked his cheek. “Destines are such strange things.”


	26. George

A pall of greasy smoke drifted into the dark and crowded hall from the kitchen. The fumes did little to mask the acrid stink of spilled ale, unwashed bodies and old vomit, but the raucous noise of clanging tankards, hearty and cruel laughter, and the creaking and scraping of benches provided excellent cover for dangerous conversations.

An ordinary looking man, perhaps a townsman or peasant farmer in from the countryside to sell his harvest, took a seat across from Hisaaus; only his fierce and vigilant eyes distinguished him from the other patrons of this horrible place. The man wasted no time. “How’s business?”

Hisauus shrugged and coughed, forcing up the tang of blood to his mouth, the lingering symptom of whatever Gaius had inflicted on him. “It’s been better.”

The man gave an excellent imitation of a sympathetic smile. “A pity. What can I do for you?”

Hisauus nodded. “I want to purchase the usual goods.”

The man smirked, and the expression exposed the barest hint of his cruel nature. “What level of quality do you seek?”

“The very highest.”

The man considered for a moment, rubbing his chin. “Difficult to obtain, and most costly.”

“We’ll meet your price, and arrange transport to the destination.”

The man raised his eyebrows and nodded. Coming to a decision, he flung out his hand for Hisauus to shake and rose from the table. “Always a pleasure.” With a last nod, he disappeared into the crowd.

Hisaaus wrinkled his nose at the stench – as much at the tactics his situation forced him to employ as at the smell of this place. But Merlin would never fall for another ruse to get past his wards, so more conventional methods must be used. His agents in the palace would gain his “supplier” access, and with the heirless Pendragon dead, Camelot would fall, Emrys or no.

***

George took the steps two at a time, shaking his head. He’d failed to leave a sufficient margin of time before supper, a novice error, made inevitable by the lack of a good night’s sleep for several months. He should have scheduled the arbitration between the Wax Chandlers and Tallow Chandlers guilds _after_ the inspection of the fletchers’ workshop – obviously the king would wish to thoroughly test the new model of crossbow bolt with George’s assistance (as the target) and thus throw them far behind schedule.

As he rounded the corner leading to the king’s chambers, George narrowly avoided a collision with another man. “Nerth? My apologies for keeping you.” George took in Nerth’s darting gaze and the sheen of sweat on his red cheeks and forehead. “What is it?” George forged ahead, dragging Nerth in his wake, stumbling to keep up.

Nerth wrung his hands. “When you didn’t come, we… well, I ordered the king’s bath drawn – I hope that was right…”

“You showed admirable initiative, Nerth; this was the correct decision. Carry on.”

Nerth exhaled and grinned, bobbing his head. “Thank you, George!”

Nerth fell back and another man took his place, struggling to balance several platters while keeping George’s rapid pace. “Ah, Eru. What word from the kitchen?”

Eru bowed his head. “I must report failure, George. Her reply is, ‘No. Not until he’s back where he belongs.’ She said if you ask again she’ll lower the king another grade.”

“Hmm.” Well, he hadn’t expected the cook to relent. At least she’d kept her word that the king’s food would be delivered unadulterated. He shivered thinking about what they were doing to the queen’s meals. “Never mind, I’m sure you did your best.”

George swept into the king’s chambers to be assaulted by staff proffering invoices and manifests for him to sign; he held out a hand and someone passed him a quill. George sailed around the chamber as he signed documents making minute corrections to candle placements and furniture alignment, swept a finger along surfaces checking for dust, ensured the royal bed linens had been pulled sufficiently tight, and carried out the rest of the normal quality control measures.

A breathless page skidded to a halt inside the door. “He comes!”

George snapped his fingers and the staff evaporated through the nearest exits. George dashed to test the bath temperature and pivoted, hands behind his back and perfectly composed as the king entered. “Good evening, sire.”

After he’d fed, undressed, bathed, rubbed down, and dressed the king in his nightclothes, read to him, and ran down to the kitchen for a cup of warm milk, and then ran down to the kitchen again for a second cup of warm milk, at last, George retreated to his anteroom, tore off his clothes (folding them with precision and placing them in his dresser), donned his nightshirt, pulled his blanket over himself with a sigh, stroked Derfel, the stuffed toy donkey his mother had made for him as a child, blew out his candle, shut his heavy lids and gave up the struggle to remain conscious.

And seconds later snapped his eyes open upon hearing the altogether too familiar tinkling sound coming from the bedchamber. One of these days, he was going to shove that blasted bell up the royal backside.

***

An odd scrabbling noise behind Arthur raised all the hairs on his neck; he spun around grabbing for the hilt of his sword, but he wasn’t wearing one. Well, no matter, the hallway was empty, at least as far as he could peer into the dark, torch-lit murk – yet the creeping sense that something was there wouldn’t go away and he whipped his head to glance behind himself every few seconds. He reached an abrupt end to the corridor but the passage didn’t look familiar and he had no idea which way to turn. How odd; he’d been exploring these halls since childhood, yet he couldn’t for the life of him recall this spot.

The noise started up again, louder this time; a strange and rapid tapping that came in pulses, and a shadow rose up on the wall before him – something big with far too many long and hairy legs. He bolted to the left and ran for his life, the tap-tapping following close behind. Pulse racing and hyperventilating, helpless and unarmed, he couldn’t afford to look back lest it catch up, and without looking back, he couldn’t determine how close it was. The interminable hallway narrowed with each stride until he couldn’t even stand straight, but still the scrabbling followed, closing on him…

The corridor came to another sudden end at a blue door. He tried the handle – locked. He pounded on the door, kicked at it, screamed and screamed for help, all the while the tap-tap-tapping grew closer… and stopped, and he shivered as something breathed on his neck. He steeled himself to turn around, but with the click of a lock turning, the door creaked open; just as he crouched to jump through, something entangled him and he fell, struggling to free himself as the thing loomed over him and he couldn’t move or scream and he woke up.

A dark figure stood beside his bed holding a long blade glinting in the moonlight. Snapping awake, Arthur’s reflexes kicked in and he lunged for his sword, but his arms had tangled in his sheets, helpless as the intruder raised the blade over his head to plunge into Arthur’s heart. _It can’t end like this, can it?_

With a loud bang the door to the bedchamber slammed open flooding the room with light, startling both Arthur and the assassin, and a terrifying silhouette with glowing eyes raised a pale hand. “ _Swierf þé mann!”_

“Merlin?”

The assassin hissed and a drop of warm moisture struck Arthur’s face. The assassin barked a scream and something splattered over Arthur – he recognised the texture and that sickly sweet metallic smell – blood. The intruder commenced shrieking as his body sprayed blood everywhere in geysers and Arthur shrieked along with him, doing his best to shield himself as chunks of matter struck him along with the ceaseless blood, soaking him, getting in his mouth, puddling on the bed. He soon realised he was now screaming unaccompanied – nothing remained of the man before him but a bleached skeleton that collapsed into a pile of bones on the floor like a dropped puppet.

Arthur sat frozen in bed, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Guh.” Remembering intruder number two, he turned to the door shrieking. _“Merlin?”_ Merlin stepped forward into the room, only it wasn’t Merlin, and Arthur received his third shock of the night _. “George?”  
_

George tottered for a moment, arm outstretched and eyes unfocused, and fell flat forward. _  
_

Arthur winced before glancing down at his own gore-plastered body. _“Yeeuurlghghgh…!”_ As he started to come back to himself, the pounding of his heart and the hysterical screaming in his head became distinct from the pounding on the main door of his chambers and voices screaming for him.

He shook his head clear, but he would need some time to calm down and figure out what had just happened. He swung out of bed and onto the wet and sticky floor and shuddered as things squished under his bare feet. “Gurghrgrgh…” He shuffle-jogged carefully on his slippery soles to the door and opened it just as the guards were preparing to ram it down.

Decades of practice dealing with stressful situations allowed him to put on his most calm and confident face. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

The two guardsmen gaped in comically wide-mouthed horror until one of them recovered the power of speech. “Er, we heard shouting, sire.”

“Everything is fine. Thank you for your concern. Goodnight.”

Before he could close the door, the guard thrust his hand against it to keep it open, his eyes narrowing. “If I may be so bold, sire, you appear to be covered in what looks like an astonishing quantity of blood.”

“No I’m not.” He winced inside at his child-denying-wrongdoing tone before he glanced down at his chest and trousers, dripping with red goo. “Ah. That’s not blood, it’s… ink. I tripped and fell on an inkpot. That’s what the shouting was. Stubbed my toe, you see, and fell. On an inkpot.” He smiled, looking back and forth between the two men.

The other guard pointed at Arthur’s head. “I believe that’s brain in your hair, sire.”

He strained to see out the corner of his eye where the guard pointed and resisted the reflex to swipe it away. “Everything’s just fine. Thank you. Goodnight.” He slammed the door and bolted it.

***

They sat together on the windowsill, staring in silence at the pile of bones on the floor, Arthur still soaked, George’s nightclothes stained with red handprints from Arthur dragging him up off the floor. Arthur had lit candles and lamps and the warm flickering light did nothing whatsoever to soften the horrific scene before them, and on them, and congealing in chunky puddles everywhere around them.

George had his head bowed, staring at his shaking hands clasped in his lap. Arthur had never seen his imperturbable manservant in such a state. “May I please request beheading, sire? I don’t much fancy burning.”

Arthur sagged, his energy spent, and he sighed. “You’re not going to be executed, George.” They resumed their listless wake until Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “George, what the hell was that?”

George sat unmoving. “It was magic, sire.”

“Yes, but why?”

“He would have killed you, sire.”

“No, I mean, why like _that_? Why didn’t you do that flingy against the wall thing sorcerers are always using?

George slumped even further. “Because I don’t know how. Sire.”

Arthur reached to give his despondent manservant a comforting pat on the shoulder before he drew back remembering his own gore-soaked condition. “George, I’m grateful for your help – in truth I owe you my life – but one must admit that was a tad gruesome.”

George sighed. “I only know a little domestic magic. When I saw that man attacking you I threw everything I had at him.”

“Domestic magic?”

“That was a spell for scouring pots.”

Arthur blinked, and snorted, making George flinch. “Scouring pots…” Arthur snickered.

“The magic must have decided everything but his bones was grime and… acted accordingly.”

Arthur threw his head back and laughed, somehow finding this grimly funny. George only pressed his lips tighter together, still not raising his head.

Arthur shook his head. “This may seem horrific at the moment, but years from now…”

“It will still seem horrific, sire.”

“Quite.”

Arthur surveyed the carnage; they couldn’t stay locked in here forever so something would need to be done about the evidence. Arthur gestured around them in a circular motion. “Uh, George, is there something you can…”

George responded with a heavy nod, but otherwise remained still, head hung low.

Arthur sighed. “Go ahead, George. It’s all right – nothing will happen to you, I give you my word.”

After a pause, George took a deep breath and exhaled. “We’d better open the window then, sire.”

They both rose; George unlatched the window, pulled it creaking open and backed away. George stood silent at Arthur’s side, still staring at his feet. Arthur nodded at him to proceed and George raised his hand, and incanted in a timid voice, _“Áfeorme þis heolfor.”  
_

Everywhere around them, the gore vaporised into wisps of red mist and condensed into a whirling crimson cloud that Arthur would have found beautiful if he didn’t know what it was, and the mist whisked out the window in a long stream like a bolt of silk unfurling, and it was as if this terrible night had never happened.

“Very impressive, George.” Arthur studied his body – not a drop left. “Very impressive indeed.” Arthur sat back down on the sill and patted the spot to his side. George slunk over and plopped down, returning his hands to his lap.

“So, George, why don’t you start by telling me how you came to learn magic.”

George took a deep breath. “It was when I was a boy, sire. My mother was a servant here too – she worked in the kitchens. Sometimes when the load was overwhelming, she’d cheat a little here or there and use magic to complete her duties.”

A knot formed in Arthur’s chest - he was already anticipating where this would go.

“I guess I had a talent for it too. I watched her and listened to the words, and tried her spells on my own. I was old enough – maybe eight – to know magic was forbidden, but I guess I didn’t really understand how serious the consequences could be.

“A large delegation from the court of Nemeth came, and with tensions high, the king wanted to impress them with the wealth and power of Camelot, so many huge and elaborate banquets were held. The workload was impossible, and my mother was exhausted and getting sick from working such long hours. So one night, I snuck into the kitchen and did all her chores for the next day with magic.”

Arthur nodded, his heart beating hard dreading George's next words, but he tried to keep his voice steady and reassuring. “And someone noticed?”

“ _Everyone_ noticed. It was impossible for all that work to have been done so fast. Someone reported her.” George raised his head and, for the first time ever, made direct eye contact, his expression and tone eerily matter-of-fact. “My mother was arrested, and I watched her burn.”

Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands, and his stomach roiled with a sudden self-loathing. He’d always felt responsible for his own mother’s death, and even though he now knew the truth, he couldn’t quite free himself of the stabbing guilt, but that was _nothing_ compared to this – to _watch_ your mother die and _know_ you were responsible… No. No, George wasn’t at _all_ responsible, he was but an innocent little boy trying to help his sick mother. _Uther_ was responsible, with his insane fear and hatred, and no amount of rationalisation could ever justify making a boy an orphan, forcing him to watch his mother die in horrible agony, for something so trivial – nor hounding a peaceful man like Balinor to the ends of the earth and shattering his family to make his son grow up fatherless. And now _Arthur_ bore the responsibility, and his mind attached a George to every single person ever sacrificed to his father’s madness and grief – and a Merlin watching each pyre in helpless terror. _  
_

***

After weeks of planning and thought, the time had come to act upon what he’d learnt from Gaius and George, and he needed the critical support of the Round Table for what he intended. To achieve maximum effect he waited until after Leon gave his reports; he scanned the table of faces fighting to stay awake or contemplating suicide and smiled to himself. He snatched a glance at George, standing with his chin high and a faint distant and unfocused smile on his face rather than the despondent boredom a normal person would be exhibiting – most likely thinking about polishing, or brass, or polishing brass.

“There is one more topic I would like to discuss today, one I believe is of critical importance to the future of the kingdom.” His knights perked up in a special effort to appear interested. “Since… certain events of last spring, a topic has been on everyone’s mind, even if it dare not be spoken of except in furtive whispers.” Now he had everyone’s attention. “You’re all thinking, ‘who can be trusted? Who else among us is a sorcerer?’ Well, to this I answer…” He spun around pointing, “ _George_ is a sorcerer!”

George shrieked and clamped his hands to the side of his head; pandemonium broke loose as his knights stumbled away from the table, screaming, drawing weapons, scuttling away from George in a panic amidst a clamour of clanging metal, splintering wood and shattered crockery. Knights gang-piled Arthur as they tried to shield him with their bodies, while Leon shook his head and Gwaine took in the chaos, cackling and slapping his knees.

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed free of the bodies ‘protecting’ him – he hadn’t expected his plan to work quite _this_ well. He held up a hand and shouted for silence before anyone got it in his head to attack his poor manservant. “And so we see the mighty knights of Camelot cowering before the fearsome nine-stone manservant, who’s spent his entire life – like his mother before him – in devoted and loyal service to the crown. Such is the outcome of the war on magic.” As eyes shifted away from George, they landed on Arthur’s hand, resting on the seatback of the empty chair at his right. “Haven’t we sacrificed enough to fear?”

***

Arthur flung open the doors of the council chambers, putting his giddy energy into long and powerful strides as George trailed behind him, breathless and struggling to keep up. The judicial council had been the last hurdle to clear, and the time had come to repair damage he should never have done. “George, prepare—“

“A horse awaits you, sire, packed with sufficient rations to reach the northern border.”

Arthur frowned, wheeling on his servant. “And—“

“I have also selected and stowed gifts appropriate for your destination, sire.”

Arthur gaped, head reeling. “George, how could you _possibly_ have—“

In a rare breach of protocol that made Arthur take a step back with wide eyes, George smiled; not a broad smile, or a grin, or really a smile at all, but the slightest relaxing of the grim line of his lips. “I have had the horse packed and readied every morning since he left, sire.”

A shiver shot up Arthur’s body from his toes to reach his eyes as a dangerous prickle – it seemed everyone knew Arthur’s heart better than he did. “I shall have to kiss you now, George.”

George didn’t even blink. “I would really rather you didn’t, sire.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice.” Arthur stepped forward and bent to kiss the top of his loyal servant’s head, eliciting a subtle eyebrow raise, before he spun away to race to the stables.

They made excellent time on the new road, and in not much more than a day’s journey, reached the crest of the slope leading into Ealdor’s valley. Arthur took a moment to absorb what lay before him and he gaped in astonishment. No trace remained of the rustic little village he remembered; in its place sat a sprawling town of beautiful stone buildings, groves and gardens, the afternoon sun glinting off the metalwork of the larger structures and the myriad pools and fountains. “What on earth…?”

Bors and the men-at-arms who had no previous knowledge of Ealdor stared entranced by the vista below. “This is Ealdor, sire? I thought it was only a small village.”

“I did too, Bors, but I’m learning to expect the unexpected.”


	27. Merlin & Arthur

Arthur stood motionless with his arms outstretched as, breathless and heart racing, Merlin dressed him with his eyes averted from Arthur’s penetrating gaze.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know… but this feels familiar. Helps me relax.” Of course, by ‘relax’, he meant ‘not run screaming into the woods’. Merlin fastened Arthur’s tunic and helped him into his jacket, working on the clasps, and only muscle memory prevented the tremor in his hands showing. Even with his head down, the weight and intensity of Arthur’s scrutiny made him pause for a moment to shut his eyes and take a deep breath, overwhelmed by the unreality of the situation. Only two hours ago he’d been resigned to Arthur never forgiving him, and now here they stood with Merlin dressing him as if nothing had happened. Well, not quite like nothing had happened – the tension in the room and the shock of being with Arthur, touching him, left him breathless with stars dancing in his eyes. _Breathe, Merlin._

“What do you want, Merlin?”

Merlin jumped, pulled from his thoughts by Arthur’s sudden breaking of the long and stressful silence. He returned his now shaking hands to the jacket clasps, but Arthur gently seized his trembling wrists and moved his hands away. Arthur’s surprise appearance in Ealdor had filled Merlin with hope, but a sharp pain shot through his chest at the flat tone of Arthur’s question. Merlin dragged his eyes up to Arthur’s, his heart hammering; an expression of disappointment or hurt on Arthur’s face would kill him. He had only a moment to register uncertainty and questioning in Arthur’s eyes before he had to squeeze his own closed again to the sound of his pulse thrashing in his ears as Arthur’s beauty hit him like a hammer, beauty beyond the mind’s power to hold in memory _._ “Er, what do you mean?”

“I mean ‘what do you want’?” Arthur’s ‘Merlin's an idiot’ tone made his heart skip a beat, encouraged by its familiarity.

Merlin frowned. “I don’t…”

Arthur squeezed his wrist to cut off his automatic denial before letting go, and he continued in a calm but sarcastic tone. “Imagine my surprise, learning the man emptying my chamber pot had the power to reduce me to ash with a mere thought. So I can’t help wonder, ‘Why would someone with such power serve in such a lowly capacity? What does he want?’ So what do you want? What is your purpose? Your ultimate aim?”

Merlin paused, staring at his wringing hands, both scared and relieved that Arthur would no longer let him avoid this conversation. “Oh. Well, I guess that’s pretty simple…”

Arthur sighed. “Yes?”

“I want to help you achieve your destiny to be High King of Albion and restore magic to its proper place.”

Arthur gave him an insincere nod of appreciation. “Oh. Is that all?”

Merlin sighed; having his dreams mocked like this gave him a jab to the chest, yet he had no right to blame Arthur for reacting this way to grandiose plans Merlin had hidden from him for their entire ten years together. He turned and took a couple of steps away, desperate to get out of Arthur’s overpowering personal space as he answered in a breaking voice, “Arthur… What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. I was wrong. I should have told you. I should have trusted you.”

Arthur stepped forward and seized his arm with a firm but not painful grip, and turned Merlin around to face him, his voice still calm, but without sarcasm this time. “Yes, all those are true, but I’m asking what _you_ want. Why Camelot? Why me?”

Merlin’s head throbbed with his rising blood pressure as he flailed for the one right answer, but if it wasn’t further apologies, he had no idea what Arthur wanted, so he settled on the most important thing in his mind. “Because my destiny is to serve you, and help you unite Albion.”

“And my destiny is to become the greatest king Albion has ever known. I get it. But none of these are really answers. ‘What do you want, Arthur?’ ‘To be a good king.’ What does that really mean? What I think makes for a good king might be different from what, say, my father thought, or Odin, or Lot… So why? Someone told you your destiny is to serve me, and you shrugged and answered, ‘Why not?’”

“No. It’s not so simple. Let me turn this around and ask you – why do you want to be king?”

Arthur stared at Merlin as if he were a moron. “I have no choice.”

“There you are. You understand perfectly.”

Arthur blinked his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. “No, Merlin, I do not. I _really_ have no choice. You can do anything you want. In fact, _you_ could be High King of Albion. Why not? What do you need me for?”

Merlin shook his head as a weight fell in his stomach, exasperated and disheartened at their parallel conversations that he had no idea how to make connect. “Escaping one’s destiny is not so easy. If I tried, the decisions I made would just keep me on my destined path in ways I hadn’t expected. It happened with Morgana. I tried to save her, but everything I did pushed her onto the path I wanted to spare her from.”

Arthur shut his eyes for a moment, perhaps swallowing his emotions at the mention of his sister and Merlin realised his mistake bringing up something that must still be painful for Arthur. When Arthur continued, he used the same clinical tone that made Merlin want to throw himself at his feet and beg for forgiveness, vow he’d pay any price for a second chance. “All right Merlin, answer this: if you wanted to, could you kill me right now?” Thrown off-balance, Merlin's eyes shot up to meet Arthur’s as he tried in desperation to read him and work out where this conversation was going, even whilst he appraised his chances based on the distance between them. Arthur rolled his eyes and took three long paces backwards. “There, all right? Could you?”

At the distance Arthur now stood, he would have no chance. Merlin sighed. “Yes.”

“Then you aren’t trapped by destiny, are you?”

Merlin exhaled. “First of all, I could never want that, and second, none of this matters anyway, because I couldn’t be a king even if I wanted to.”

Arthur shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because I only see people as individuals, and every decision I made would be on an individual basis. I would crumble under the weight of trying to satisfy everyone’s incompatible needs. But you, you see the larger picture and possess the strength I will never have to make decisions that sacrifice individual needs for the greater good.”

Arthur gave a slight acquiescing nod as he lowered his gaze, and Merlin let out a breath, relieved to finally be getting through and for the brief mental break. After a few long moments, Arthur tilted his head. “But I’m not the only person who can do that. There are kings elsewhere who accept magic. You could fulfill your destiny with one of them.”

Merlin tensed, ground his teeth, frustrated with flailing around in this labyrinth; every turn proved wrong, and he still didn’t understand what Arthur wanted. Was this Arthur’s aim? To make him angry? “I don’t _want_ to go elsewhere, and it’s _your_ destiny to be High King and yours alone!”

Arthur advanced on Merlin, lips curling to expose gritted teeth, his voice rising. “I’m certainly no High King and you’ve had to hide who you are for ten years under constant fear of death in base servitude. So why stay? Why continue to suffer through all that for nothing? _Why, Merlin_?”

“You _know_ why!” Arthur’s eyes snapped down and he turned his head away, making it clear that Arthur did, in fact, know why, and Merlin’s face burned with humiliation. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” Arthur stood unresponsive, the play of muscles visible in his clenched jaw. Merlin slumped exhausted; the adrenaline of the confusion and frustration coursing through him throughout the conversation now faded to be replaced with a quiet defeat. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, Merlin.” He swallowed, picked lint off his sleeve. “Your position with me has been very… ah, intimate, so I understand why you would feel…”

“Oh my _God_.” Merlin tore at his hair. “You self-absorbed ass! No. You don’t understand how I feel, you _can’t_ understand - what it is to be so near the person I know in my soul I’m meant for, but knowing it can never be. And even having someone else to love, there will always be a gaping hole in my heart nothing can ever fill.”

A long pause followed as Arthur locked gazes with Merlin, his expression inscrutable, and Merlin’s limbs trembled as his heart thudded in his chest, awaiting Arthur’s rejection, disgust, mockery. Arthur shut his eyes and sighed, and shook his head with a bitter smile. “Oh, Merlin. And you think _I’m_ self-absorbed. You couldn’t be more wrong – I know _exactly_ how that feels.” He turned away. “Please… just go.”

Merlin stood frozen, stunned, struck by lightning, unable to process what he’d just heard. Arthur spun and strode forward backing him toward the door.

“Go!” Arthur flung open the door, shoved Merlin out and slammed it shut behind him.

***

Arthur leaned against the windowsill, taking deep, calming breaths. On some level he’d always known, even depended on it, but to hear Merlin say the words, even though he’d provoked them, had torn down the comfortable wall between the love he needed from Merlin and the implications of this need – and how Arthur felt in return. Maybe that’s why he’d pressed the issue – why he’d needed to hear it.

Because now, no doubt, no half-acceptance or partial denial remained possible. When they’d come to meet him at the bridge, seeing Merlin had been the release of a breath held far too long, air rushing in and burning his lungs with ice; like another one of Gaius’ lodestones, but this time, the kind drawn with an invisible force to cling to the other; like waking from a coma and like dying. To again lay eyes on Merlin’s unearthly, impossible beauty stabbed Arthur in the heart with a blade sharpened by the guileless doubt and vulnerability in those brilliant, fathomless eyes.

He was done – done with fear of dependence, done with denial, done pushing away his weakness, done with even seeing his need as weakness. It _wasn’t_ weakness, it was his greatest strength. He was nothing without Merlin, his existence hollow and dismal – he could never go back to who he was before; he needed Merlin. Period. Like he needed air, like parched earth needed rain, and he would do anything he had to, pay any price to get him back.

If only he knew how.

He lowered his head, despairing at his own helpless idiocy. His capacity to connect emotionally had been thoroughly and systematically stripped from him since birth, and every attempt he made seemed to have the opposite of the effect intended.

He peered out the window and followed Merlin as he scuffled to his mother with his head hanging, and fell into her arms and lay his head on her shoulder as she stroked his hair. Watching the easy, loving relationship between them made his chest ache with longing for that type of closeness in his own life – yet the thought of hugging or talking about emotions made him squirm and feel weak and effeminate, and when other men did these things his contempt and ridicule came by reflex, even if the hurt look on Merlin’s face haunted him until he did something nice to him… which he realised with a sinking feeling was usually to beat him up. 

Heaven knows how hard he tried to be different, but except under extreme circumstances he just couldn’t make himself do more than clasp wrists or throw an arm across a shoulder, and when he attempted to express his feelings, the words wouldn’t come out, crashing against an invisible barrier – the barrier installed by his father.

This was the real source of the problem, wasn’t it? The contrast in upbringings couldn’t be greater; Merlin had grown up receiving constant and consistent demonstration of unconditional love, so that’s what love was to him. Arthur’s father had shown him love by patting him on the shoulder when he’d killed something or other, or through deliberate cruelty meant to make him ‘strong’, and so these were the only tools in Arthur’s kit. When it came to emotions, he and Merlin spoke different languages; Arthur belittled and rejected Merlin’s expression of his feelings, and Merlin often misinterpreted or missed entirely Arthur’s attempts to demonstrate his.

So then there was nothing to this, Arthur would simply communicate to Merlin what he meant to Arthur in a vocabulary he would understand.

How hard could that be?

***

Merlin lay under a tree on a hillside not far out of town with his eyes closed, basking in the sun’s rays, having needed to get away after moping for hours in an emotional tumult. Like the system of roots extending around him, his awareness spread, expansive, to receive loving guidance from the various manifestations of life, visible and invisible; the magic of the earth and sky embraced him, and helped him push aside trivial emotions, thoughts and fears, to allow him to examine his earlier conversations with Arthur and his own feelings with clarity.

 _“You're my everyth_ _―_ _”_

At the time, broken and warped by hurt and grief, part of him had wondered, ‘everything what? Everything annoying? Everything he hated?’ Perhaps such thoughts had been a way to avoid the painful truth of his failure to see what had been right before his eyes for a decade.

 _“I was only half-alive until I met you, Merlin.”_ His guilt made him dwell on the _“But now I wish I never had”_ that followed, missing the essence of what Arthur had said.

 _“I know_ _exactly_ _how that feels.”  
_

How could all of this have escaped him? How could he have misunderstood such unambiguous statements? Had Arthur not shown him, in his own way, time and time again how much he loved and valued Merlin? Had he not kept Merlin at his side through every trial, chose _him_ to lean on whenever he needed strength? Gave him Ealdor and the seat of honour at his side?

Merlin shook his head, his heart hammering into his throat and butterflies assaulting his insides with the guilt over how he’d hurt Arthur with all his negative assumptions and misreading of his intentions. Yet, despite the unsuccessful end of their last conversation, Arthur hadn’t even mentioned Merlin’s magic or his lies and secrets, had swept them aside even when Merlin raised them – so perhaps Arthur could come to accept him, magic and all.

As those first thrills of hope shivered through him, the wind whispered to him of Arthur’s approach and the earth resonated with welcome. Nervous and fearful, he had always drawn his magic in tight while around Arthur, so he’d never experienced him like this, with his spirit and perceptions free and expansive. Arthur was a second sun walking the earth, glorious and breathtaking, and the magic of every living thing reached out to caress him as he passed, drew light from him and blossomed with augmented vitality. Merlin’s own magic sparked and flared, reflected back to him magnified, balanced and whole, and a fiery shiver ran up his body.

“Hello, Arthur.” He opened his eyes, squinting in the light.

Arthur gave him a wincing smile. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin sat up on his elbows, not sure what brought on this rare apology. “For what?”

“For earlier. It wasn’t very fair of me.”

Merlin rose to his feet, taken off guard by Arthur’s words but happy Arthur spoke to him as he always had, with no sign of his previous coldness or anger. “Oh. It’s all right. Sorry about your statue.” Merlin used his expert deadpan, a hint of his old cheekiness.

Arthur shrugged a nonchalant dismissal, a hint of a smirk in the set of his mouth. “To be honest, I’ve never really cared for that statue. I think of this as an opportunity for a more suitable replacement.”

Merlin raised a questioning eyebrow and squeezed back the smile that threatened to escape . “Like what?”

Arthur scowled. “Of _me_ , of course. I know this keeps escaping your notice _Mer_ lin, but I am the king.”

Merlin laughed, joy running through him at this familiar pattern of banter, although his hands trembled and his insides fluttered, nervous and afraid of losing this moment, of waking from a happy dream. “Won’t it fall over, unbalanced by your fat head?”

Arthur shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Shut up, Merlin.” But soon his face grew serious and he glanced at his feet. “In seriousness, I was thinking it’s time to properly honour Lancelot.”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as a shiver ran through him, and he touched a shaking hand to his chest, his eyes welling, overwhelmed by this gesture for a monument long overdue, a gesture that could only be meant for Merlin. “Arthur…”

Arthur frowned and rolled his eyes. “Well you’re not going to cry over it, are you?”

Merlin laughed and wiped his eyes. “Only in relief the bronze supply won’t be exhausted to model your waistline.”

Arthur pinched his lips and made to attack Merlin, who flinched, and smiling, they stood in silence.

As much as Merlin loved being able to joke with Arthur like this again as though nothing had happened, the moment had a brittle quality, their unresolved issues looming, but this friendly interaction gave him the confidence to broach them. “Arthur, I’m so sorry. I know sometimes I don’t give you enough credit, or I jump to off-base conclusions, and you deserve better than that.”

Arthur lowered his head and nodded. “Sometimes it feels like nothing I say or do is ever enough for you, and my best efforts are rejected… but then I watch you with your mother, how open and loving you are with each other, and it’s driven home how differently we’ve been shaped by our lives and upbringings. What seems to me to be trumpeting how I feel from the battlements, you read as a beating, or being dragged screaming on a hunting trip.”

Merlin laughed and sparks of joy spread through him as he realised they had both come to the same conclusion about the problems between them, and with a path to heal their breach now at last in sight, the weight lifted from him entirely. “I’m not sure I’m convinced that was always you ‘trumpeting your feelings’ so much as taking pleasure in my misery.”

Arthur smirked. “Well.” He exhaled and wiped a hand on his trouser leg. “I realise I’m moody, and inconsistent, and I’ve never made you feel secure in your place with me, so I’m going to say it, just this one time, so listen carefully and let us never speak of it again. The truth of the matter, Merlin, is that I…” Merlin frowned as Arthur stopped; blushing and his eyes darting about. “I… This is harder than I thought.”

A smile began deep in Merlin, and spread throughout his body until it emerged, causing his eyes to sting with the intensity of the emotion wanting to burst out of him.

Arthur continued to flounder, getting more and more flustered and aggravated with himself, his hands starting to flap in frustration. “I… guh.”

Merlin couldn’t stop the fond internal laugh at Arthur’s emotional idiocy and stepped forward to put him out of his misery, throwing his arms around him. “I love you too, Arthur.”

Arthur sagged into Merlin’s embrace, the stiffness and tension leaving his body and he squeezed his arms tight around Merlin, his voice hitched and shaking. “God help me, I do. I really do. I’ve missed you so much, Merlin, I can’t…”

Merlin’s limbs grew weak as a wave of warmth washed over him and he clung ever tighter to Arthur. How long he’d waited for this, how he’d longed for this affection even more than he realised now that it was happening, and the decade of stormy emotions tangled around Arthur that he’d been carrying unravelled into a tender calm now that they were at last on the same page, together, at the same time rather than flitting backwards and forwards like a book rifling in the wind. This was a new beginning; Merlin had no more secrets to burden him and he’d at last been given the undisguised love and acceptance from Arthur he’d craved. He pressed his cheek to Arthur’s, rocked their bodies together, content to stand together forever but for the waning strength of his clasping arms and for the trembling of Arthur’s body… and his sniffling…  “Are you _crying?_ ”

“No…!”

Merlin pulled away and blinked at Arthur’s display of emotion. He smirked. “Here, let me wipe away your little girly tears…”

Arthur batted away Merlin's hand reaching toward his face. “ _Must_ you ruin everything, Merlin?” But his tone held no bite, and he backed away and held out his hand. “Come.”

“Where…?

Arthur sat against a tree and indicated in front of him. “Come sit with me.” Confused and suspecting a trap Merlin hesitated, frowning. “Just let me hold you. Please.”

In a daze Merlin did as he was told for once and Arthur pulled him back against his chest between his legs and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s middle. Breathless and disoriented by this almost bizarre show of affection, Merlin turned his head to the side to peer at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. “What have you done with the real Arthur?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Ah, there he is.” Arthur dug a finger into his rib which made Merlin squeak, but he soon relaxed and melted into Arthur, resting his head on his broad shoulder and revelling in his heat. He threaded one of his hands in Arthur’s and rested his other on his arm, free at last to touch the muscles he’d worshipped for so long in hopeless shame, engulfed in the strength that would always protect and master him. He wished they could stay like this forever, just the two of them, away from the weight of duty and destiny. “What an odd pair we make. If you’d told me I’d be sitting here with the awful pratish bully I met all those years ago…”

Arthur huffed. “Are you saying you didn’t like me?”

“Like you? I _despised_ you! You really were horrid. But I suppose I eventually warmed up to you a bit.”

Another huff. “You mean the second day, of course.”

"Yeah, no. More like when you came to defend Ealdor."

Arthur screeched, scandalised, “ _A year?”_

“But you hated me too, didn’t you?” Arthur tensed, and Merlin gathered the answer would not be the one he expected. “Didn’t you?”

“No, Merlin, I’ve always known what you were to me.”

Merlin frowned, not grasping what Arthur was saying. “You mean…”

“Yes, Merlin.”

Merlin spun to see Arthur’s face – his expression was the one he’d seen only a handful of times, the tender smile that made him weak in the knees. “But…”

“Always, Merlin. From the instant I first laid eyes on you.”

Merlin scowled. “Oh, come on! That’s _not_ true. You tried to kill me twice in the first week!”

Arthur shook his head, his face placid. “I had no frame of reference to understand fully until later, but after that day I thought of little else.”

Merlin’s breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut to hold himself together. Had he ever known Arthur at all?

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I entirely believe you either, Merlin. You’ve never been very subtle, you know – all your blushing, ‘stealthy’ peeks at me bathing, fingers lingering on my body…”

Merlin pinched Arthur’s leg in retaliation. “Oh fuck you, you don’t know anything. And I said when I knew I _loved_ you, not when I knew I _wanted_ …” Realising what he was saying, he slapped his hand over his mouth, far too late. He braced himself for the lifetime of unbelievable smugness that would follow.

“Wanted _what_ , Merlin?”

Arthur glanced pointedly at the hand Merlin had resting on his chest; Merlin tore it away like he’d touched a hot stove and spun to his original position facing away from Arthur, his ears and cheeks burning. “Fuck.”

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about, Merlin, I _am_ extremely attractive. You never really had a chance, given my―”

“Oh my _God_. Sometimes I really hate you.”

Arthur barked laughter and Merlin slumped, folding his arms, determined to get his own back now that he finally understood Arthur’s own shows of affection. “It’s not like you aren’t always beating me up as an excuse to get your hands on me.”

“You love every minute of it.” He kissed Merlin’s head and gave him a gentle squeeze.

They sat together like that for some time in comfortable silence, but with his mind spinning with everything they’d talked about, Merlin couldn’t help ask, “Have you ever thought about—”

Arthur cut him off, his tone a fragile calm. “Yes.”

“If you weren’t king… if—”

“ _Yes_ , Merlin, yes. Please stop. We can’t discuss this.” Merlin spun around in Arthur’s arms to face him, stomach fluttering and stunned at the strength of the answer, to be met by Arthur’s feverish eyes. “It changes nothing. I _am_ king and Gwen is my queen, and she has my love and respect – and my vow.”

Merlin lowered his eyes, his insides falling confronted with the reality of their lives, and getting a lump in his throat, guilty that his feelings were a betrayal of sorts. “I know. And I have Percival.”

Arthur paused, before asking in a calm and quiet voice, “Do you love him?”

How odd that the question coming from Arthur of all people made it easy for him to answer with the plain and heartfelt truth. “Yes.”

Arthur raised Merlin’s head with a finger under his chin, and Merlin met his misty eyes and his sincere yet bittersweet smile. “I’m glad. Percival is perhaps the finest man I’ve ever known, and you couldn’t do better.”

Merlin nodded to acknowledge Arthur’s blessing; his words seemed somehow final, like a door closing, and Merlin’s heart ached to finally discover the depth and nature of Arthur’s love for him and yet also know nothing between them could change. Percival had always been aware of Merlin’s feelings for Arthur and accepted them, but could Merlin continue with another, knowing those feelings were reciprocated? The simple answer was that he’d have to. He did love Percival, and Percival made him happy – more than most people had, and more than Merlin deserved. It would be enough. It had to be.

Arthur studied his face with his piercing eyes, inscrutable and vulnerable at the same time, clearly reading Merlin’s acceptance of the situation and having nothing more to say on the subject. “Merlin, you must trust in me to do the right thing. There can be no more secrets, no lies, ever.”

Merlin nodded again, so grateful and relieved to be given this second chance, that despite everything, Arthur might still trust him. “I swear it.”

“And you have to let me fight my own battles. Help against magical attacks is one thing, although hopefully we won’t face any more now the ban on magic is lifted, but if you always step in to protect me, I’ll grow weak and complacent, and lose the respect of the army and people. Do you understand?”

Merlin gaped, thunderstruck, as if time had stopped; his mind threatening to shut down if it received any more shocks today.

“Merlin? Hello?”

He snapped back to Arthur’s beaming face, no doubt having given him the exact reaction he wanted – but Merlin didn’t care and he tackled Arthur and rolled with him, laughing with an irrepressible happiness he hadn’t felt in years. “You prat! Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

Sitting up on his knees astride Merlin, brushing himself off with one hand and holding Merlin’s wrists captive in the other, Arthur answered in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’ll have you know, Merlin, I rode straight here from the council meeting that approved the measure in order to tell you.”

As it sank in, that his dreams had come to fruition, and all the hardship of the last ten years had been a price worth paying, it was Merlin’s turn for tears; tears of relief and joy, but most of all love for this wonderful man. Arthur’s smile softened and he released Merlin’s wrists to brush away his tears. Merlin grasped Arthur’s wrist and brushed the back of his hand with his thumb. “You did this for me?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Well, actually I did this for George, but that’s a story for another time.”

Yet another realisation hit him, and his mouth dropped wide in outrage. “Oh, I _knew_ it! _Nobody_ is that perfect. Ha! Oh, I can’t wait to―“

Arthur cut him off, serious and bringing him back to the topic at hand. “Merlin, I’m serious. I can’t be the king you want me to be if you coddle me. Do you understand?”

Merlin nodded.

“Do you swear it?”

Merlin shook his head.

“Merlin!”

Merlin sighed, the seriousness of what Arthur was asking of him chasing away his previous elation. “I’ll do my best, but _I will_ _not_ watch you die, Arthur. I won’t. Not if I have the power to prevent it.”

Arthur glared at him for a few long heartbeats before, with a huff and a fond shake of his head, he released him, stood, and offered his hand. “I suppose that will have to do for now. Come.”

 _That will have to do forever_. Arthur’s signet ring scraped against Merlin’s hand as he pulled him to his feet, reminding him of the fruit of his last project with Accolon. “Oh! Wait! I have something for you.”

Arthur wrinked his nose. “It’s not another giant rainbow butterfly is it?

“What was wrong with my butterfly? It worked, didn’t it?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Really, Merlin, could you be more of a girl? It couldn’t have been, I don’t know, a giant _merlin_ , maybe, or a dragon?”

Merlin smirked, giddy to be joking about his magic with Arthur and the acceptance this implied. “Much too obvious, and besides, I liked the symbolism. Now do you want your gift, or not?”

Arthur gave Merlin a doubtful scowl as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring, a simple silver band, and extended it in his hand and Arthur froze, frowning – until his eyes widened and he shook his head and staggered back as if the ring were a poisonous snake, falling against the tree, its solid weight at his back the only thing keeping him upright.

Merlin rushed to him, mystified over his reaction. “Arthur! What’s wrong?”

“The ring… I’ve seen it before. Over and over in my dreams. “

Merlin frowned, considering. “Are you sure? Maybe you just think―”

Arthur shook his head, his voice certain. “No, Merlin, I’d recognise it anywhere. That’s the ring from my dreams.”

Merlin handed the ring to him with a reassuring nod. Arthur hesitated before taking it to study in his trembling hand until his questioning eyes shot up to meet Merlin’s. Merlin smiled, took the ring back, and shaking with nerves, he dropped to his knees, took Arthur’s hand and slipped the ring on his finger. “When you wear this, my magic can have no effect on you. I made it to offer as proof of my absolute submission to you. You’re my master, my lord, my king; everything I am belongs to you, and I would have it no other way.”

At Merlin’s words, Arthur’s previous uncertainty disappeared, replaced by the royal carriage that never failed to give Merlin chills, and he gave Merlin a smile that lit up his entire being, a smile Merlin always wanted aimed at him, which was both what Arthur gave newly dubbed knights or when he bestowed honours – yet still a smile just for Merlin, a smile of warm acceptance and love. Arthur pulled Merlin to his feet and nodded as he removed the ring and tucked it in his pocket. “I’ll keep this always as a symbol of your loyalty and devotion, but I will never wear it.” Lightning ran up Merlin’s spine and trembling and weak in the knees, he shut his eyes, overwhelmed to be given without trial or question what he’d never expected to have again – Arthur’s complete trust. Merlin opened his eyes when Arthur’s hand grasped his shoulder. “I have something for you, too, Merlin. You gave it to me in the cave, and now I want to return it.”

Merlin froze as he searched his memory for the many nights they had spent sheltered in caves over the years, but only one stood out, and by the time the realisation dawned on him, Arthur’s hand had moved to his cheek and he was leaning in. Arthur’s lips were soft and full, his breath sweet, the touch a hesitation between them as if both were taking the time to memorize the sensation before they parted; a burning heat raced down Merlin’s body to his feet, leaving him weak and tingling, before washing back up to prickle his eyes and tears fell from under his closed lids, and as they parted, Merlin floated in a silent darkness broken only by the steady beat of Arthur’s heart under his hand in harmony with his own.

“Merlin?” Merlin opened his eyes to another smug smirk. “Wow. That good, eh?” Merlin shook his head, but his embarrassment did nothing to blunt his happiness. Arthur smiled. “From now on, we’ll spend a week here every year at this time, only the two of us, so we can be just Merlin and Arthur. All right?” Too overwhelmed to speak, Merlin nodded through his tears, and Arthur beamed and squeezed his shoulder, and nodded toward town. “Shall we?”

As they ambled down the hill and Merlin admired the beauty of the new Ealdor before them, his chest ached at the thought of leaving this place, especially with Gaius now here for good, even if Merlin would return to visit. Still, he missed the bustle of Camelot and the frenetic activity of his duties… Merlin frowned, not sure what those even _were_ now. “Uh, so I’ll go back to being your manservant then?”

Arthur recoiled with a gasp and grimace. “Heavens, no! After the revelation that is George, I could never go back to your hopelessly incompetent ministrations.” He tapped his lip with his forefinger as if considering. “I was thinking maybe ‘First Counsellor’. What do you think?”

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Does it involve a funny outfit and lots of ceremonial duties?”

“Of course, Merlin. I designed the hat myself.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Still a prat, I see.”

“And that’s still treason, Merlin.” He offered his hand. “Come along, then, let’s go build your Albion.”

And they did, but that’s a story for another time.


	28. Epilogue

Hunith waited in a clearing outside town, the still silence broken only by the chirping of night birds and insects, the occasional barking of a fox; the moonlight cast eerie shadows among the trees, but Hunith's spirit permeated this forest and it held no fear for her.

At last the sound she’d been expecting reached her, the heavy, rhythmic beating of wings - and soon a dark form passed across the moon.

She braced herself against the furious wind and shielded her eyes from flying debris stirred by the dragon's violent flapping as he alighted before her.

“You wished to see me?”

The dragon’s calm and hypnotic tone only made her tense as angry heat flushed through her. “You lied to me!”

Kilgharrah lifted his snout and turned his head to the side as he blinked. “I did not. You chose to hear what you wanted to in what I told you.”

Hunith clenched her fists at her side. “It was to be _my_ suffering, not his!”

The dragon’s head darted towards her, eyes blazing and his voice roaring, but she would not be intimidated and held her ground. “For tiny creatures you humans possess such towering arrogance. You would defy the gods and dictate the terms of your punishment?” He narrowed his eyes, his voice again silken. “We have all suffered for the choices you’ve made, have we not?” He coiled and spread his wings to launch into the sky, but turned his head to face her once more, his voice now tired and sad. “And I fear our suffering has only yet begun.”

His words struck Hunith cold and she stood in numb silence listening to the dragon’s wingbeats fading into the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. There is a sequel in the works, entitled _Plan B_. A shorter interlude is complete entitled _The Shadow of the Knight._


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